


Take My Land

by LittleLightLittleFire



Category: Firefly, Serenity (2005), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: And my Arabic is better than my Sindarin, Drug Use, F/M, Hobbit/Firefly AU, M/M, My Chinese is better than my Khuzdul, Pick n mix verse, The Hobbit! In Space!, cannibals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2018-05-23 01:35:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 68,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6100528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLightLittleFire/pseuds/LittleLightLittleFire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"Burn the land and boil the sea, you can't take the sky from me."</em>
</p><p>Erebor is ash, its people dispersed across the Verse. The Alliance has become weak, and more and more planets fall to the Orcs whilst they look away.</p><p>Thorin has a crew, but no ship. A kingdom, but no key. And a destination, but no idea how to get there without being eaten by Orcs or busted by the Alliance.</p><p>Things ain't exactly going smooth. </p><p>******</p><p>All credit to Tolkien and PJ for the Hobbit characters, and all credit to Whedon for the Verse I am currently pillaging. </p><p>This is my first published fic. Be gentle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - Skyfall

**Author's Note:**

> _"Skyfall is where we start_  
>  _A thousand miles and poles apart_  
>  _Where worlds collide and days are dark..."_  
>  Skyfall - Adele

Drained dry of resources and too small to accommodate an ever-growing population, humanity abandoned Earth-That-Was and set out into the vastness of space. After centuries of searching, the great seething mass of ship-bound humanity discovered new worlds, terra-forming them to make them habitable, to make them home.   
           
Orbiting the star Durin, Erebor and its moon Dale were right on the Rim, the edge of inhabited space. It was not considered a desirable place to live, but its settlers were attracted by the huge deposits of minerals and precious metals below the planet's surface and the chance to make their fortune. 

In time, the small mining planet became one of the wealthiest and most powerful in the Verse. Its riches were funnelled into its military, Erebor's shield against what lived out in the darkest and blackest reaches of space. 

Its defences were crowned by a piece of software known as Arkenstone; an advanced, automated system capable of detecting space-borne threats and destroying them before they even reached as far as Dale. Arkenstone's secrets were closely guarded, despite the Alliance between Erebor and the other systems. Erebor's people were safe, protected, and prosperous. 

Then came Smaug, a computer virus so sophisticated it annihilated Erebor's every safeguard within minutes, rendering the planet's entire infrastructure useless. And after Smaug came the Orcs, and in one night of fire and blood and death, the great shining cities of Erebor and Dale were destroyed and their populations decimated. Those few who managed to escape watched helplessly from their ships as their homes were ravaged and turned to ash. 

Faced with the influx of refugees, the Alliance crumbled and the last remnants of Erebor's people were turned away with feeble excuses and platitudes. 

They drifted across space, finding work where they could get it, rebuilding their lives anew wherever they found a scrap of earth and a small enough welcome. But always they remembered their home; the majesty of their cities, the betrayal of those they had thought of as allies, and the taste of ash as an entire planet burned. They never forgave. And they never forgot. 


	2. Sail Away Tomorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I miss my love so dearly, I miss my home sweet home_   
>  _I wish that you could hear me, I'd let my plan be known_   
>  _That we sail away tomorrow, God speed me to your side_   
>  _Raise the anchor up, boys, and bid this land goodbye..."_
> 
> If The Gaff Don't Let Us Down - Skinny Lister

Far away, on the other side of the Verse, and many years since the fall of Erebor, Bilbo Baggins gazed out of his study window and huffed with annoyance as the sound of his neighbours' automated mower cut through the peace and mangled a blooming, half-formed thought. It would be just his luck that this one thought in particular would be the solution to the problems he had spent the last five years trying to unravel. And thanks to the bloody Sackville-Bagginses, he'd lost it and it would probably take him another five years to find it again. 

Defeated (this time), he rose from his desk and went to make a cup of tea. He contemplated adding whiskey to the strong, smoky brew, but decided that elevensies was definitely far too early for such antics. 

"Bloody woman," he cursed as he viciously added two teaspoons of sugar to the cup. Just over the lane, Lobelia Sackville-Baggins stood on her doorstep, surveying her horticultural kingdom with the air of a grand empress. She spotted him in his kitchen window and deigned to give him a wave. He returned it with a rictus grin and a half-hearted gesture of his own. 

"Yes, hello!" He raised his cup to her and then muttered, "One day I shall pee in your geraniums, you old baggage," over the rim. 

All Bilbo wanted in life was a comfy chair, a good cup of tea, and somewhere calm and quiet where he could get on with his work. He'd long given up on his boyhood dreams of travelling the Verse. Someone had to look after his mother when she became sick, and then take care of Bag End when she passed away. 

He had gotten close though. When things got a bit _too_  bucolic, he would take off to Buckleberry Space Port for a few days, rent a room, and wander amongst the gleaming ships with their destinations posted on signs in front. He almost boarded one once, bound for Bree, but fear and the weight of his imagined responsibilities stopped him. 

His home, capacious and beautiful, and courtesy of his inheritance from his mother, would stand empty if he left. Or worse, be taken over by the Sackville-Bagginses. And he had his research which paid a sizeable salary, courtesy of a donor high up in Alliance Command. Bilbo didn't ask what his research would be used for, and he certainly wasn't told. 

No, Bilbo was better where he was. Shire was the glistening emerald in the centre of the Eriador system. A lush, green planet, where nobody wanted for anything. As his father had often said "A man was bored of life if he was bored of Shire."

Save the occasional bouts of daydreaming, Bilbo was content. His armchair, a burgundy damask number with carved mahogany feet, perfectly placed to look out over his velvety green lawn and riotously coloured flower beds, was perfect. 

The tea in his kettle was the best in the county, an expensive import from the Rhûn system, but affordable thanks to his mysterious employer. 

And Hobbiton _had_ been quiet, up until Lobelia had bought that blessed lawnmower a month ago and proceeded to wheel it out at every damn opportunity. Even though Lobelia's grass was so terrible that no amount of mowing would redeem it. It was most frustrating.

He sipped his tea and pondered the offending machine. Asking her to stop would do no good; she had every right to mow her lawn in the day, and if she realised it was annoying him, she was likely to do it all the more. 

It needed to be decommissioned. Permanently. He could always steal the solar panels, or remove the wheels, but that would be too obvious. And she could replace those. It needed to be more subtle. Something in the software that would be undetectable. All he needed to do was write a few lines of code and upload them to the mower. It was perfect, Bilbo thought. He could sneak over at night and do it. Getting caught was a risk he was willing to take, but, if he was truly honest with himself, it added to the overall excitement of getting one over on Lobelia.  
   
The simplest solutions were always the best, so it would be easiest to just write a patch that would route all the power collected from the solar panels into the electronics in one short burst. It would fry the circuits and render the wretched thing completely use-

The cup slipped from Bilbo's fingers and shattered on the tiled floor, splashing his bare feet with lukewarm tea.

Could it be _that_  simple?

He dashed back to his study, dodging the shards of broken ceramic. After several hours of frantic typing, scribbled calculations, and tense hair pulling, he leaned back in his chair and blew out a breath. 

"Well," he said finally. " _Bugger me_."

Five years. Five years he'd been working on this and the answer had been staring him in the face all along. He laughed, faintly hysterical, at his own stupidity. Mr Greyhame needed to be told. Mr Greyhame needed to be told _immediately_. 

Bilbo ran a hand through his unruly curls and straightened his wonky braces as the vid connected.

"Mr Baggins, I wasn't expecting another update for another month."

The image of an old man flickered onto Bilbo's screen. He was immaculately turned out in a crisp grey suit and waistcoat. Bilbo checked the clock on the corner of the screen and marvelled at the man's ability to look put together even at 3 AM wherever he was. 

"Er. Good morning?"

"Yes. I suppose it is. To what do I owe the pleasure?" He didn't even look tired, for goodness' sake!

"I've done it," Bilbo gabbled. "It was that bloody mower, really. There's no back door to the system, not one as we would know it. And I spent all this time trying to force a way in, trying to bypass the armour remotely when there just wasn't one, everything just bounced off..."

"My dear fellow," Mr Greyhame held up a hand, "slow down. Now, you say you've found a way to shut it down?"

"Yes, but..."

"And have you run the simulations?"

"Yes, but..."

"And you're sure it will work?"

"Yes, but..."

"Wonderful news, Mr Baggins! Well done!"

" _But_  it can't be done remotely!" Bilbo eventually blurted. "Someone will have to go planetside and hack the software from the main infrastructure hub. So in theory, yes. It can be done. But in practice..."

"Yes, I see your point." Mr Greyhame stroked his beard in thought. "That does pose a problem...Still. We have gotten this far, and for that you have my congratulations. Send me your research. As per our initial arrangement, a lump sum will be deposited in your account by the end of tomorrow..."

"Th-thank you."

"I look forward to seeing you soon, Mr Baggins. Good day!"

"Good da- wait, whatdoyoumeanseemesoon?" The vid was dropped and Bilbo slumped back into his chair. 

" _Bugger_."

The evening sun illuminating his study and his loudly grumbling stomach reminded Bilbo of just how long he'd been sat working. Dazed, elated, and exhausted, he stumbled back to his kitchen to start on his supper, pondering on what exactly 'seeing you soon' meant. 

As for the mower? Bilbo decided to let it live. For the time being. 

****************************

On the outer edge of the Eriador system, on Ered Luin, Thorin Oakenshield stared at the vid screen in front of him, face schooled into a neutral expression. He'd been here before and each time hope was becoming a more and more precious commodity. That did not stop the slight tremble in his hands as he absorbed the news. 

"You are certain, Gandalf?"

"I have checked the data over myself. I believe this is the key to reclaiming Erebor once and for all. What's more, with Thrain's research and Mr Baggins' expertise, I think we have a firm chance of rebuilding Arkenstone..." 

Gandalf trailed off and Thorin scowled at him through the vid. "But?"

"It is our worst case scenario..."

"Oh Mahal," whispered a voice from behind Thorin's shoulder. He half-turned to see Balin, his advisor and friend, gripping the doorframe with white knuckles. 

"We have no choice," said Thorin, ignoring his friend's crest-fallen expression. 

"Perhaps not," mused Gandalf. "Gather your people, Thorin. Bring only those you trust. We shall meet at these co-ordinates a week from today."

A series of numbers flashed up on the bottom of the screen and Thorin hastily scribbled them down.

"Shire? But that's a Central planet, the Alliance..."

Gandalf interrupted Thorin before his rant could gain any momentum. "Are not and will not become involved, I can promise you. Besides we shall only be there for a day or two, at most. I shall send a wave to Balin regarding supplies we shall need for the onward journey."

"But..."

"Leave _everything_  else to me," said Gandalf briskly, before hanging up. 

"Infuriating man," murmurred Thorin under his breath. 

He span round in his chair to look at Balin. "Well?"

"You don't have to do this, lad," said the old man sadly. 

"I do. Ered Luin cannot support us for much longer. There is already talk of moving us on amongst the more conservative elements of the council. By force, if necessary. I will not subject our people to such indignities again. Not whilst there is the smallest chance of going home."

Balin smiled resignedly. "Aye. I was afraid you'd say that. So. The usual crew?"

"I would ask no one else."

"And the boys?"

"Them as well, I suppose."

Jubilant yells and whooping echoed up through the floorboards and Thorin rolled his eyes. "Maker preserve us." 

"I'll make the arrangements." 

Balin nodded his farewell and made his way downstairs, only to be met with a flurry of questions from Thorin's nephews. Thorin shook his head fondly at the racket, then steeled himself as he tapped a name into the vid screen. He supposed he should see if Dain could provide any assistance, although Thorin would be very surprised if he did. 

  
****************************

It had been almost a week since Bilbo had spoken to Mr Greyhame. It had been the most tense almost-week of Bilbo's life. He'd sent over the specs for the software as promised and Mr Greyhame had sent over Bilbo's payment, as _he'd_  promised. But the 'see you soon' combined with the completion of a project that had kept Bilbo occupied solidly for the last five years made him restive. 

The house had been cleaned and dusted to within an inch of its life, the flowerbeds had been weeded, the holes in his favourite waistcoats had all been mended. He'd even, as a last resort, visited his cousins. 

His mood only lifted with a wave, which had of course arrived whilst he was out. Mr Greyhame would be coming for tea. Tomorrow. Listlessness was replaced by blind panic. Bilbo desperately wanted to reply to the wave and put him off. But this man was - had been - his employer. And he was probably already on his way. It would be _rude_.

Bilbo did what any right thinking individual would do in such a circumstance; he went out and bought as much food as he could carry back, and made up the guest bedroom. Just in case. 

Much to Bilbo's chagrin, Mr Greyhame hadn't specified an exact time when he'd be arriving. Had it been anyone else, Bilbo would have muttered darkly to himself about the presumptousness of inviting himself round and _not giving a time._  

As it was, on the appointed afternoon Bilbo sat in his study in his best waistcoat and read a book. Or rather, he tried. Nerves had kept him awake all night and he only read half a page before his eyelids began to droop. He drifted off and the book slid from his hands onto the carpet with a dull thud. 

When Bilbo awoke, it was to darkness and a frantic, jangling noise. Disorientated, it took him a moment to work out that he'd nodded off, that it was already nighttime, Mr Greyhame had not arrived yet, and that the doorbell was ringing. 

He shot to the front door, flinging it open and babbling his apologies before truly looking at who it was that was on his doorstep. 

It was not Mr Greyhame. 

The man on his doorstep - quite possibly the largest man Bilbo had ever seen - archly raised an eyebrow at his witterings. 

"Er..."

"Dwalin Fundinson, at your service," said the man with grudging inclination of his head. All at once, Bilbo noted the tattoos scrawled across the man's scalp, scars on his face and arms, and the weapons secreted about his person. Bilbo gulped. 

"Bilbo Baggins," he stammered, fidgeting with his rumpled waistcoat, "at yours."

Dwalin barged past into Bilbo's hallway and dropped his duffel bag by the coat stand. It made a metallic clanking noise. Bilbo surmised that this man was also the most _heavily armed_ man he'd ever seen as well. 

"Wheres'it?"

"Pardon?"

"The food?"

Struggling for words, Bilbo settled with just pointing in the direction of his dining room. Dwalin stomped off in search of the food that somebody - somebody _not_ _Bilbo_ \- had promised him. 

" _Well_ ," said a scandalised Bilbo to himself. He lingered in his hallway for a few minutes, before mustering the courage to go and talk to the giant, hairy interloper.  

He found Dwalin in his kitchen. Judging by the crumbs down his front and the missing spaces on the baking tray, in the couple of minutes Bilbo'd spent dithering, Dwalin had demolished two shortbread biscuits and was well on his way to another. 

Bilbo opened his mouth to reproach him, but nothing came out. He shut it again with a snap. 

"Good biscuits," mumbled Dwalin, round a mouthful. 

"Th-thank you."

The jingling of the bell in the hallway broke the awkward silence that followed. 

"That'd be the door," said Dwalin when it became apparent Bilbo was stuck in his spot. 

"Right! Yes! The door!"

This time, Bilbo opened his front door in a much calmer fashion. He did not recognise this man, with his shock of white fluffy hair and beard, either. 

"Good evening?"

"Yes. Yes, it is," said the man happily. "Balin Fundinson, at your service." He shook Bilbo's hand warmly. 

"Bilbo Baggins, at yours."

Balin stepped round Bilbo and deposited his own bag, a scuffled leather suitcase, next to that of Bilbo's other guest. He glanced at the duffel bag and smiled to himself. 

"Brother?"

"In 'ere!"

Balin sauntered off down the corridor in the direction of his brother's voice, Bilbo trailing behind. 

"It's been too long!" said Dwalin, sweeping Balin up into a massive bear hug and squeezing. Balin wheezed as all the air was forced from his lungs, and his spine made a series of popping noises. Bilbo winced. 

"Some might say 'not long enough'," teased Balin once he regained the ability to breath again. They grinned at each other and Balin helped himself to a biscuit.  
   
Bilbo had been about to make some eloquent statement about receiving guests, and generally expecting to know them before they arrived. But then the doorbell rang. Again. 

As he opened the door for the third time, he prayed to whichever gods happened to be listening that this would be Mr Greyhame. Or at least, an explanation for whatever was going on. 

It was not. 

This time, two young men stood on his doorstep, one blonde, one brunette, both wearing a roguish combination of civilian t-shirts and military issue combats, and identical smirks. 

"Mr Boggins!" said the brunette cheerfully. 

The blond nudged him sharply with his elbow and hissed, "It's Baggins, Kili."

"Mr Baggins!" corrected Kili.

"'m Filli and this idiot is my brother, Kili..." 

"Hey!"

"...At your service, Mr Baggins." Both brothers inclined their heads politely.

"I'm very sorry but you've come to the wrong house," said Bilbo in an attempt to regain control of the situation. 

"Has it been cancelled?"asked Kili. The brothers looked at each other frantically. 

"What? No, but..."

"Ah, that's good then!"

Fili and Kili swaggered their way into the house, dropping their own duffels with a soft thump, and propping two long, rectangular cases up by the coat stand with utmost care. 

"You two, get in 'ere!"

"Dwalin!" called Kili and rushed off to the dining room, brother in tow.

Bilbo began to suspect this was someone's idea of a very bad joke. It was not funny. Generally a patient person, he had now reached the end of his tether. 

"Right," hissed Bilbo. He sucked in a deep breath and started in the direction of his dining room and his uninvited guests. 

The doorbell rang a fourth time and Bilbo's ire found a new direction. He yanked the front door open so forcefully that the handle smacked into the wall and left a dent in the plaster. Not that he noticed, as what seemed like a hoard of people greeted him and stampeded through his hall. All he could do was gape like a fish out of water. He looked at the myriad boxes, suitcases, and bags that had been left in their wake with a feeling somewhat akin to despair. 

"Bilbo, my dear fellow!" said a recognisable voice. 

"Mr Greyhame," replied Bilbo with a sigh. 

"We'll have no more of that! Call me Gandalf." He extended his hand and Bilbo shook it tentatively. 

Already a mysterious and imposing figure in Bilbo's mind, meeting Gandalf Greyhame in person did nothing to dispel that impression. He was much taller than Bilbo had been expecting, and under the brim of his soft grey fedora, his blue eyes twinkled merrily, giving a sense that he found this whole situation rather amusing. On reflection, Bilbo thought he probably did. 

"May I come in?"

"You know, you're the first person today who's actually asked me that," said Bilbo wryly. 

Gandalf hung his hat on one of the pegs in the hall and neatly slid his cane, grey with a shiny silver handle, into the coat stand. 

It was not hard to guess where the rest of the party had got to; all they had to do was follow the noise. 

The twelve men (Bilbo had counted) were currently bustling between his kitchen, his dining room, and, to Bilbo's horror, his pantry. And all Gandalf did was stand in a corner and watch them, chuckling softly to himself as they set the table and bickered all the while. 

Bilbo's already stretched tether snapped. 

He marched up to Gandalf and drew himself up to his full height. "Gandalf, what in the Verse is going on here? Who are these people, and why are they _in_ _my_ _house_?"

"Oh, they're quite a merry gang really."

"That they may be," said Bilbo, tone implying that he thought entirely the opposite. "But that still doesn't explain what they are doing here!"

"I invited them."

"You inv- _why_?"

"We are waiting on one more guest, and then I will tell you everything." 

Under Gandalf's unctuous smile, Bilbo deflated. Gandalf patted him on the shoulder kindly and made his way towards a bottle of sherry Bilbo kept on the sideboard for special occasions. 

It was all becoming a bit much, and as the rabble loudly ate and drank the entire contents of Bilbo's cupboards, he wandered the passageways of his home in a daze, attempting to recover some form of composure. 

It took ten minutes, and several fingers of Green Dragon's Best blended malt he'd stashed in his bureau drawer, but he finally reached a point where he felt he could face his 'guests' without completely losing it. 

"Right," he said to himself, tugging the creases out his clothes and running a hand through his hair. 

Bilbo's timing was fortune; he rounded the corner just as the last one of the dirty plates (West Farthing, antique) was thrown from the dining room and into the kitchen. He blinked, one, twice, and then decided it was best to act as if he'd _never_ seen that and it _hadn't_ happened. 

To their credit, Bilbo's 'guests', who had been making such an awful mess of his dining table, his floors, and his kitchen, had done a remarkable job of cleaning up after themselves. Aside from the pile of bags at the front door, the stack of dishes draining in the sink, the empty larder, and the continuing noise, Bilbo could almost pretend that they had never arrived.

Instead of the doorbell, this time there was a thumping at the door and immediately the group fell into a hush. 

"He is here," pronounced Gandalf and Bilbo rolled his eyes as he made his way down the hall. 

"Gandalf," rumbled a voice as the door swung open. A man breezed his way into Bilbo's house so quickly that Bilbo had no time to introduce himself, or even invite him in. 

"I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way. Twice," he said, hanging a dark, woollen coat up on a peg. 

"Thorin Oakenshield, I would like to introduce you to my dear friend, Mr Bilbo Baggins. Bilbo, this is Thorin Oakenshield, the leader of our venture."

The name tugged insistently at Bilbo's memory, but it was only when he looked the man full in the face as he shook his hand that he remembered where he'd heard it before. His dark hair had been shorter and there had been much less grey in it, but the intense blue eyes and impressive scowl were unchanged from the vids. 

At the time of Erebor's fall, he'd only been a young lad and Thorin became the darling of the media and the politicians. The face of an exiled and displaced people. What they hadn't counted on was that the face also had a voice. A loud, erudite, and highly critical one. When Erebor had fallen out of favour as the cause du jour, Thorin publicly spoken out against the Alliance, accusing them of not doing enough, of turning away from his people's suffering. Over the last twenty or so years, he'd become notorious for his anti-Alliance rhetoric, but he got precious little signal space these days and Bilbo barely watched the news anyway. 

Bilbo wasn't daft though. Putting his infamy aside, Thorin was a Person Of Interest to the Alliance and by association, Bilbo would become a Person Of Interest too. He rather preferred that things were the opposite. 

"So," said Thorin, circling Bilbo like a wolf around a sheep, "this is Mr Baggins. Doesn't look like much."

Bilbo made an unmanly noise of indignation, lost as the rest of the assembled group chuckled. 

"I assure you, Thorin, he is more than capable for the task at hand," replied Gandalf warningly.   
Thorin harrumphed and followed everyone back down the hall. 

Once all were settled back in their chairs and Thorin was now seated with a bowl of soup, Gandalf dimmed the lights and took the empty space next to him. Bilbo hovered nervously at his elbow, peering at the thin screen Gandalf produced from his jacket pocket. 

He typed in a few characters and then placed it in the centre of the table. A hologram flickered to life, speckling the room with dots of light.

"Most of you know something of why we are here..." said Gandalf. Bilbo snorted and was met with a steely glare. "...But for the sake of clarity, I shall start from the beginning."

He touched a finger to a cluster of lights by his head and the hologram zoomed in to a bluish-white star, lazily orbited by a single planet and its moon. 

"On the Rim of the galaxy lies the Durin system and its lone planet, Erebor. I need not relate the events that led to its fall; we are all well-versed in that regard..."

A discontented murmur ran through the assembled group. 

"...For many years, we had given up Erebor and Dale as lost. Thanks to Smaug, that entire patch of space has become infested with Orcs. Raids have increased in both the Khazd system and the Rhuvanion system and we believe that the Orcs are using Erebor as a foothold -"

"What do you mean ' _you_ _believe_ '? Don't you know?!"said a silver-haired man in a purple suit, who's name Bilbo vaguely recalled as Dori. 

"None of our reconnaissance missions returned," replied Gandalf bluntly.

The room exploded as everyone cursed at each other in as many languages as they could muster.

" _Bìzuî_!" yelled Thorin, slamming his fist down on the table. As quickly as it had erupted, the noise stopped. "This is not the time to fight amongst ourselves!"

He glared at them for a few seconds and then gestured for Gandalf to continue.

"Yes, thank you. As I was saying, none of our ships returned..."

"One did?" interrupted Bilbo. 

"Indeed."

"But that's..."

"Impossible? Yes, so I thought too. Until I saw this." Gandalf reached into his pocket and drew out a small shard of silver metal. It reflected the light from the holo, shining as bright as any star there.  

" _Mithril_ ," breathed Thorin. 

"It has been tested and retested. It could only have come from one place, and as you know, all mithril is stamped with a molecular signature these days. This has none."

"It's raw?!" exclaimed Kili. 

"But...if someone brought that back, then it means they must have found a way down to the planet," said Fili.

"They dodged the defences," said Kili excitedly. "There's a way in!"

"There is," said Gandalf. "But the pilot who made the original trip has so far refused to give up their route. But I am quite confident that, with the right motivation, they will agree." Another uneasy murmur rippled round the table at this. "Still," said Gandalf brightly, "that is a task for tomorrow, and even if we knew the route, we would not be able to succeed without this-"

He reached over and made a few taps on the screen, and Bilbo's dining room was lit up by streams of blue zeros and ones. 

"What is this?" said another grey-haired man with a set of spectacles perched on the end of his nose. 

"It's binary, Oin," replied the youngest in a tentative voice. His many layers of woollens, crooked noise and auburn hair stuck out at all angles reminded Bilbo of a fledgling pigeon. Bilbo struggled to attach a name to him though. "Code. For software programmes."

"Quite right," said Gandalf. He gestured grandly up at the holo. "This is our key to bringing Smaug down and reclaiming your home, and it is thanks solely to the tireless efforts of Mr Baggins that it exists."

As one, the men around the table stared at Bilbo with a new-found respect. Bilbo, meanwhile, developed a sudden interest in his feet.

"Yes. Well. Hmm. It was...it was nothing, really. Quite, quite simple. Once you look at it the right way, of course."

"Give yourself more credit, my dear fellow," said Gandalf. "It was a master stroke. There's not many who would have thought of it and it puts us in a unique position; with the co-operation of our pilot, we will be able to bypass the current planetary defences. And once we upload this coding to the network, Smaug will be unable to reboot following the solar eclipse. Then it will be a simple matter of re-introducing an updated version of Arkenstone..."

"Arkenstone is lost, Gandalf," said Balin sadly. "Any hard blueprints we had were left behind on the planet. Even if we found them, it would take months to rebuild it, and by that time we would already be overrun by Orcs."

"Before Thrain left, he entrusted the original blueprints for Arkenstone to me, should the worst happen. The data file is encrypted, so I have not been able to access it, but a more competent software engineer should have no trouble." Gandalf looked at Bilbo meaningfully. "It is my hope that from these bare bones, Bilbo will be able to remake it. Stronger, this time, and more able to deal with the advanced programme that brought down the first." 

"Me? But- I- it would take months!"

"It will take at least three months to reach Erebor. Will that be long enough?" asked Thorin.

"Yes... But Erebor is on the other side of the galaxy. The data packet would be too large to wave over to your ship, wherever that ends up. Not to mention that you would need someone proficient in these things to install both programmes in the first place..."

"Which is why you are coming with us," pronounced Gandalf happily. 

"I'm coming with you? To Erebor? Through parts of space even _the_ _Alliance_ won't go to? No. Absolutely not. I can't help you, Gandalf. I'm sorry. All of you, I am sorry, but you've had a wasted trip coming here."

The group looked crest-fallen and defeated, bar Thorin, whose face remained impassive as he spoke. "We are refugees, Mr Baggins. No matter where we go, or how accepting the Alliance professes to be, we are always marked out thus. We will never fit in and we cannot go home. Those of us who manage to eke out a living do what we can to help the others, but..." 

"It's not enough," finished Fili, expression tight with helpless anger. Thorin nodded at him, a gesture placating and acknowledging all at once 

"If we re-took Erebor, we could begin again," continued Thorin. "We may never be what we were, but it would be better than what we are now."

For the first time since they had barged their way into his house and up-ended his peace and quiet, Bilbo looked - _really_ looked - at the collection of people before him. Fastidiously patched or not, their clothes showed signs of wear and age, and they looked hungry. Not malnourished or starving, rather the look of someone who lived with the uncertainty of never quite knowing where their next meal was going to come from. 

Bilbo opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Thorin scowled darkly at him; he did not need to hear another excuse. He'd had enough of those to last a lifetime. Abruptly, he stood, chair scraping gratingly on the floor and stalked out. In dribs and drabs, the others followed behind until only Gandalf and Bilbo remained. 

He sat in Thorin's vacated seat and put his head in his hands, as Gandalf closed the holo and turned the lights back on. 

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"I can't just go gallivanting across the Verse! I belong here, Gandalf! I have- I have _responsibilities_. _Here_."

"Is that what you really believe?" he replied. He peered keenly at Bilbo until he squirmed uncomfortably. 

" _Yes_."

Gandalf humphed, unconvinced. He rose, patted Bilbo on the shoulder and wandered off. Bilbo sat unmoving for the longest time. Distantly, he heard low voices, and the sounds of people tramping round his house. Then the lights went off, and he was alone in the dark. Still he did not move, as his thoughts chased round and round in circles.

Bilbo was a fan of lists. He always had been. When everything when to hell in a handcart, he made a list, and somehow everything came right with the world. Somewhere in the dark hours of the morning, he slammed the brakes on his whirring thoughts, and carefully, meticulously, made a list. It had grown light by the time he finished, but it helped crystallise his decision. 

' _Pros to Erebor trip_ :   
\- _See galaxy (always wanted to leave the planet)_  
\- _Help a dispossessed people get their home back_  
\- _Be the person to bring down the most sophisticated programme our age has ever seen_  
\- _Possible financial remuneration (as yet unclear)_

_Cons to Erebor trip:_  
\- _Living on a space ship for several months and subsequent cons of:_  
        - _Space rations_  
        - _Minute possibility of said ship depressurising and either a). suffocating or b). getting sucked out into the vacuum of space_  
\- _High possibility that Lobelia will try and annex Bag End whilst gone_  
\- _High likelihood that she will succeed_  
\- _Venture is of somewhat dubious nature (possibly illegal)_  
\- _At very least, Alliance won't like it_  
\- _May come across Orcs_  
\- _Orcs would be bad_  
\- _Becoming an Orc snack would be even worse_  
\- _Garden will become overgrown'_

_Bugger it_ , thought Bilbo. He marched to his living room and opened the door with a bang. A few of the bodies currently inhabiting every available surface jumped several feet in the air. 

"I'll do it," announced Bilbo to the groaning party. 

"You'd best pack," said Gandalf with a chuckle as he materialised behind him, looking as pristine and well turned out as the others looked tired and unkempt.

Bilbo's face dropped. He'd not thought of that. 

"We leave in one hour, Mr Baggins," grumbled Thorin. 

"Ah."

Frantically, Bilbo began a new list.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chinese:  
>  _Bìzuî_ \- 'Shut it!'
> 
> Thanks for the comments and kudos! I hope you guy are enjoying reading this as much as I'm enjoying writing it.


	3. Roll With It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from the song by Oasis

Precisely forty-six minutes after sprinting up the staircase, Bilbo returned to his living room which was now a hive of activity as the group packed and re-packed their belongings. Gandalf had mysteriously disappeared again. 

Bilbo was instantly accosted by an extremely cheerful Balin, who thumped him genially on the shoulder with one hand and proffered a screen with the other. 

"What's this?"

"Your contract."

"My _contract_?"

"Aye, lad. We wouldn't expect you to up and leave your home without some assurances!" Bilbo breathed a sigh of relief; he'd be getting paid after all. "When you're done, just pop your thumb print on the bottom and I'll introduce you to the crew properly."

He took the screen from Balin and gave it a brief once-over. It all seemed fair. The section entitled 'In the Event of Death' was a _little_ concerning, but he chose to ignore that. He pressed his thumb onto the little box at the end of the document and the screen made a _ping_ noise. 

"Welcome aboard, Mr Baggins!" said Balin happily. "Now, do you have everything you'll need? Computer? Clothes? Toothbrush?"

"I think so."

"Excellent. If you find you've forgotten anything, just speak to Bofur, he's our logistics man." 

At the sound of his name, the man Bilbo had already noted for his fleecy flap-eared hat and impressive moustache gave him a wave and a broad grin. 

"Logistics?" asked Bilbo, shaking the man's hand for the second time in as many days. 

"Fancy word for finding' supplies. I can get ye anythin' ye need, from engine parts to ammo, an' at a reasonable price too. Got the gift o' the gab, my mam says. An' this is my brother Bombur." He pointed at a large, ginger man next to him who was busy counting silver packets and placing them in a crate. Bombur blushed and waved shyly. 

"He's our cook," interjected Balin. Bilbo felt marginally better about the expedition upon hearing that. 

"An' this is my cousin, Bifur. Bif, come say hello." Bofur made a series of hand gestures at the man next to Bombur and caught Bilbo watching curiously. "Concussion grenade went off by his head about a decade ago during the food riots, he's as deaf as a post now."

Bofur's hands moved all the while, translating for his cousin, and Bifur's hands fluttered back in reply. 

"He says 'Hello, and thanks for all the food we ate last night.' No, ye mean all the food _y'ate_ last night."

Whatever Bifur said back must have been rude, because Bofur signed a furious reply and Bombur snorted with amusement. Bifur went back to rummaging through his bag, smiling smugly to himself. 

"He's our mechanic," explained Balin. "I honestly don't think we've found a thing that he can't fix yet. Now, over here," he said, steering Bilbo to another group of men sat in the middle of Bilbo's floor, "we have the Rissons. This is-"

"Dori Risson. Public relations." Dori lept up, grabbed Bilbo's hand and shook it vigorously. 

"-and these are his brothers, Nori and Ori."

Bilbo suddenly remembered that the young fledgling was Ori, which meant the other man must be Nori. He looked at Bilbo assessingly, shrugged and returned to his previous task of untangling a mess of cables and placing them neatly in a metal box by his feet. Ori, meanwhile, peered up at Bilbo owlishly. 

"I must say, Mr Baggins," said Ori bashfully, "your work...a very elegant solution. I wouldn't have thought of that. You must be _zhēnde shì tiāncái_."

"Hardly," he replied, a little embarrassed. "And please, it's Bilbo."

"Ori does all our tech stuff. He something of a genius himself," said Balin. Ori flushed a startling shade of crimson. As an aside, he muttered,"And we need all the brain power we can get."

"Hey!" squawked Kili from the other side of the room. "I resent that!" Fili bounced a pair of socks off his brother's head and it quickly descended into a scuffle. Fili, though shorter, was brawnier than Kili and thus emerged victorious, with Kili stuck in a headlock and Fili scrubbing at his head with his knuckles. 

All assembled rolled their eyes and ignored them. "Thorin's nephews. It's their first trip off-world, so they're, well, to say they're a _little_ excitable would be understating things."

"What do they do, aside from cause trouble?" asked Bilbo. 

Balin grinned. "Oh, I see you've got the measure of those two already! Apart from Oin and myself, the rest have been working as gunhands for Gloin's mercenary business." He pointed at a muscular ginger man with a huge red beard. Gloin winked. 

"Ah. Hence the guns."

The assortment of weaponry in all shapes and sizes now scattered about his living room was the latest on the list of Things Bilbo Was Choosing To Ignore. 

"Hence the guns," repeated Thorin. "I don't suppose you know how to shoot?" he said disdainfully. 

"I have never held a gun in my life and I'd rather prefer to keep it that way, thank you very much."

Thorin and Dwalin exchanged a significant glance. "In that case, when the time comes, Mr Baggins, do _try_ and keep behind us." 

Bilbo shot Thorin a dirty look. He'd like to see how far _he_ would have gotten trying to crack Smaug on his own. 

"The less people I have to patch up the better," said Oin loudly, making Bilbo jump. 

"Medic?" Bilbo asked Balin.

"Yes. He's also a bit deaf. Although it tends to be selective more than anything." Bilbo caught the smirk that flickered across Oin's face. Selective indeed. 

"Right." Bilbo took a moment to digest all this new information. "So, what do you do then?"he finally asked Balin. 

"No one's really worked it out yet," said Dwalin to chuckles from the rest. 

"Damage control," replied Balin primly. "I'm a lawyer," he explained to Bilbo, "which means when one of these miscreants gets themselves in trouble with the Feds, I'm the one who has to get them out of it again."

"Does that...er, happen a lot?"

"Recently? More than I'd like." Balin shot a pointed look at Fili and Kili. 

"Oh, come on, Balin! That last one wasn't our fault!" protested Kili. "Those guys totally started it..."

"Said some very unpleasant things about our dear mother," added Fili. 

"You hit a council member's son with a pool cue." 

The brothers smirked, unrepentant. 

"Och. Let it go, Balin," said Dwalin. "Little bastard shoulda known better than to talk _goushî_ in an Ereborian owned bar in t'first place." He, Thorin, Fili and Kili shared conspiratorial grins. 

Sighing, Balin threw his hands up in defeat. Bilbo frowned, realising that perhaps he'd let himself in for more than he'd originally bargained. Spending three months on a space ship with a bunch of heavily armed mercenaries was beginning to seem less like an adventure and more like a terminal career move. 

He was going to get punched. Or shot. Definitely injured; he had that feeling. 

It was just at that moment that Gandalf breezed back in to the living room with the air of an impresario. He didn't need to say a word to the crew; he merely picked up his small suitcase, smiled slightly, and then walked out. 

In the scramble that followed, Bilbo forgot his concerns and helped Bombur ram the remaining food packets into their crate. He let the others pass him in his hallway, before standing in silence for a couple of moments. He took in a couple of deep breaths, inhaling the comforting smell of home, then went outside and closed his front door. Locked, he patted the shiny, green wood and gave it a small smile. It would be a long time before he saw it again; he still wasn't sure whether that was a good thing or not. 

**********************************************************

Thorin sat in the driver's seat of the Flying Mule Gandalf had acquired (Fili had protested, but years of experience had taught Thorin that letting Fili drive _anything_ was a terrible idea). It took a little creative manoeuvring, but they managed to fit everyone and their luggage on all at once. 

He punched in the co-ordinates Gandalf had given him and watched the on-board computer calculate the route. Their destination was not, as Thorin had been expecting, the local space port, but a wood an hour out of Hobbiton. All Gandalf would say was that this was where they were to meet their pilot. 

As they drove, Thorin gritted his teeth and seethed quietly to himself. He did not like having Baggins on his crew. It was nothing personal - _mostly_ nothing personal - but he didn't know him and he couldn't trust someone he didn't know. If things went south (and at some point, they invariably would), he knew he could count on any of the others to have his back and each others'. Even Gandalf, to some degree. 

But Baggins...Thorin would be surprised if he even knew which way round to _hold_ a gun, let alone do anything but hide at the first sign of trouble. And not only this, but he was going to have to put up with another unknown in Gandalf's pilot. All told, it made him uneasy. But he'd known Gandalf for many years; if he said Baggins was dependable then Thorin would have to trust that. 

Thorin's sense of unease grew somewhat as they approached the co-ordinates. For the last half a mile, Thorin didn't have to follow the directions on the console; the trail of snapped trees and scorched earth was plenty to go by. The rest of the crew fell silent. Downed ships were always bad news. 

After a few tense minutes, they reached the crash site. The ship - an old junker by the looks of things - was mercifully intact, having come to rest in small clearing. Thorin noted that the cargo ramp had been lowered, but there were no other signs of life. 

He parked up the Mule, turned in his seat and gave the crew a look. The safety catches of thirteen small-arms clicked and out of the corner of his eye, Thorin caught Bilbo fidgeting.

A metallic banging echoed round the clearing and Bilbo jumped right out of his seat. 

"Leave this to me," said the remarkably calm Gandalf. He disembarked the Mule, and strode over purposefully to the starboard thruster and the source of the noise. Thorin, Bilbo and the rest of the crew followed behind.

The clanging stopped. For a few seconds, there was silence, then something beeped in denial and a voice yelled, " _Liù koushî de biâozî hè hóuzî de bèn érzî_! Why won't you rutting work?!"

A quiet ripple of laughter ran through the crew. The banging restarted again, sounding like someone was hitting something repeatedly with a wrench.

"I'm gonna scrap you-" _BANG_ "- you money-eating-" _BANG_ "- fuel-sucking -" _BANG_ "- sociopathic -" _BANG_ "- homicidal -" _BANG_ "- gorram flying _shed_!"

"Felix," called Gandalf. 

 From inside the thruster came a dull thump and a muffled ' _ow_.'

"Gandalf? That you?"

"Yes."

"Shit," said the voice quietly. Thorin cocked an eyebrow at him and smirked, which Gandalf studiously ignored. A hatch on the side of the thruster popped open and a young woman, all gangly tawny limbs and a shock of copper curls, hopped out. She took one look at Gandalf and the assembled crew and simply said, "No."

"You don't even know what I'm here for..."

"Barliman told me it was a smuggling job. I'm gonna go with not so much. Erebor?" Gandalf conspicuously didn't answer. "Yeah, that's what I thought. No."

"I apologise for the deception, but you've been ignoring my waves."

"Gee. I wonder _why_. It's almost like I wanted to avoid being asked to go back."

"You do owe me a favour." Gandalf raised his eyebrows and fixed her with an expectant look. 

"Yeah," she eventually groaned, "but Erebor? _That's_ the favour you're gonna call in? Really?"

Gandalf merely stared unmovingly back. 

"Really?" She looked as though she was desperately searching for an escape, but after a few moments relented."...Fine. But I want paid. Full. In advance."

"How much?" grumbled Thorin suspiciously.

"Ten thousand credits."

The crew hissed. That was more than most of them made in a year. It wasn't as though it couldn't be afforded, but still...

"Six," he shot back. 

"Nine."

"Seven."

"Eight and a half. And that's as low as I'm prepared to go."

Loud enough that everyone could hear, Gloin hissed in his ear that they could find a cheaper pilot at any space port, even a Central planet. Thorin was inclined to agree. 

"She really is an accomplished pilot," Gandalf said, "and there's no one else I know of who's made the trip and returned."

Thorin threw a significant look behind him at the trail the ship had broken through the wood. 

"Hey, that wasn't my fault! Ever since my last mechanic quit, starboard thruster's been giving me shimmy and I don't have a damned idea how to fix it. It died somewhere in between Bree and here, so I had to glide her in. Less VTOL and more VTOC... Vertical Take Off and Crashing," she explained. 

"I'm surprised that thing's made it this far," said Dori disdainfully. "It's an antique!"

Felix shot him a look and then patted the ship comfortingly. "' _This thing_ ' is a Class 3 Firefly transport, just like my daddy used to fly...She may be old and a bit shabby, but the _Mercator_ is one of the best ships in the Verse."

"You were calling her 'a shed' before," pointed out Fili. 

"Yeah? And? Ain't nobody allowed to insult my ship but me. The old lady just needs some repairs is all."

"Eight," said Thorin finally. "And whatever parts and repairs you need to get her in the air again and keep her flying."

"Eight one and I'll call you Cap'n."

Thorin smirked. "Eight one it is." He'd never hear the end of it from Gloin, who counted credits as carefully as Dwalin counted bullets. Worth it, though. 

They shook on it, and Gandalf hummed happily to himself as the necessary introductions were made. Thorin barked orders to the crew to get the supplies stowed in the cargo hold and, via Bofur, got Bifur working on the broken thruster. 

With fifteen pairs of hands, it didn't take long to get the ship packed up and ready. Bifur was able to do a botch job on a frayed cable that seemed to be the cause of the problems, but made it abundantly clear that a viable replacement would need to be found as soon as possible. 

The crew gathered in the common area whilst Felix scruntised Gandalf's holo.

"Let's see, let's see... We stop here - here - and here," she highlighted three points, making a zig-zag pattern in the holo. "Rhudaur, Carrock, and Esgaroth. Then it's a straight shot to Erebor, more or less."

"That's not the most direct route," said Thorin with a scowl. "Nor the quickest."

"It's the quickest route if the alternative is getting et." Felix was met with a series of confused and skeptical expressions. "Look, how long has it been since you guys went past the Mist?"

"A long while," mumbled Dwalin grudgingly. "That's deep Alliance territory, we're not welcome there."

"I made this trip last year. This bit-" she pointed to the area surrounding Dol Guldor "- is crawling with Orcs. This bit-" she pointed to Greenwood and its closest neighbour, Lothlorien, "- is crawling with Alliance as a result. So we gotta go around. Adds another two weeks onto the journey, but it'll get us to Esgaroth without too many problems. After that, that's when things get really fun..."

"Define 'fun'," drawled Thorin.

"It's probably best if I don't. Y'all got some cunning plan to bring down Smaug, I hope?"

"That would be Mr Baggins' area." Thorin pointed squarely at him and he ducked his head, embarrassed. 

"Shiny. Allowing for things going wrong, diversions, detours and running away from things, it'll probably take four- four and a half months," said Felix, tapping her chin with her fingers. 

"Doesn't leave us with much time," Balin murmurred to Thorin. "Durin's Day is in just over five."

"Can you get us there by then?"

"Durin's Day? The eclipse, right?" Balin and Thorin nodded simultaneously. "Sure thing, Cap'n. Sure thing."

"Rhudaur first, then. Everything set for take-off?"

"Yes, Unc- wait, do you want us to call you 'Captain' now too?"asked Kili, all too innocently. Thorin shot him a withering look and Kili grinned in response. 

"'Captain Uncle' has a nice ring to it, don't you think _dìdì_?"said Fili, before his composure cracked into a shit-eating grin too. 

Thorin made a mental note to assign his nephews the most menial and unpleasant tasks for the foreseeable future. For the time being, he settled with refusing to allow them to accompany him onto the bridge, knowing that they were dying to see Shire from the cockpit windows.

Instead, he asked Bilbo, hoping that the gesture might make the software engineer stop looking at everyone like a startled rabbit. It worked. Sort of. He smiled and then looked at everyone with something bordering on mild concern. It was an improvement, at least. And invited or not, Gandalf came along too. 

He took the co-pilot's seat across from Felix. Thorin might be captain, but it was still her ship. And he only had a vague idea how to fly the thing anyway. Gandalf and Bilbo buckled themselves into the seats behind him as Felix completed the pre-flight checks. 

"Air locks, sealed. Atmo, hull integrity, and grav systems: check, check and check. Port and starboard VTOL thrusters: checkity check. Main engines: check. Cap'n?"

 Thorin nodded. Felix flicked several switches and pulled down the control stick. She punched the comms button as the engines thrummed into life. 

"Gentlemen and gentlemen, welcome to this one-off charter flight to Erebor aboard the Firefly Class Series 3 _Mercator_. My name is Felix and I will be your pilot for the duration of this trip (however long that may be). With me in the co-pilot chair is your captain, Thorin Oakenshield. In the event of a fire or sudden depressurisation, please make your way to the skiffs on the port and starboard wings. If boarded by Alliance or other pirates, please attempt not to panic and leave all the talking to Gandalf. If boarded by Orcs, then - by all means - panic. Our first stop will be Rhudaur and we are expected to make port in approximately three weeks, so I hope you brought some board games with you. In the mean time, please buckle your seat belts and try not to hurl on the carpets. I just had 'em washed. Sit back, relax, and enjoy the flight."

Felix turned off the comms, looking mightily pleased with herself. Thorin fought the urge to roll his eyes and lost. With the press of a couple more buttons and a gentle easing of the control stick, the Mercator rose into the air and glided upwards. A garish _jīnmāo_ on the console waved happily as they gained altitude and speed, the sky slowly shifting from bright blue to navy black. This was the most dangerous part of space flight; there was so much that could go wrong, but it had been always Thorin's favourite bit. 

There was a slight shudder as the ship fought against the planet's atmosphere and the buffer panels on the nose creaked unsettlingly. Behind him, Bilbo coughed nervously. Felix diverted more power to the main engine. Stomach lurching slightly, Thorin was pressed back into his chair as the Mercator surged upward and broke free.  

Yeah, Thorin thought, trying to hide his grin, it was still his favourite bit. 

Outside the window was a startling inky blackness and infinite specks of light. One of them might even be Erebor, waiting for him to come home. 

It had been a long time since he'd been given cause to hope. The last week had changed matters somewhat. With a key and a map (of sorts), and a little luck, Thorin felt like they might actually have a decent chance of success. He unbuckled his seatbelt and made his way down the corridor whistling to himself, slapping Bilbo's shoulder as he passed. Thorin wasn't about to wait around for the scramble for cabins; he learned that lesson from _last_ time, leader or not. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chinese:
> 
>  _zhēnde shì tiāncái_ \- 'An absolute genius'  
>  _goushî_ \- 'Shit'  
>  _Liù koushî de biâozî hè hóuzî de bèn érzî_ \- 'You dumb son of a saliva drooling whore and a monkey'  
>  _dìdì_ \- 'Little brother'  
>  _jīnmāo_ \- Lucky cat, or maneki neko
> 
>  
> 
> And they're off!
> 
> If you're familiar with the Firefly Verse, Felix's parentage should be pretty easy to guess...
> 
> Thanks for reading, kudos-ing, and commenting! If you got any advice, opinions, ideas or constructive criticisms, whack 'em in a box for me. Or come say hi on tumblr: littlelightlittlefire.tumblr.com


	4. King For A King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _A king for a king,_  
>  _Eye for an eye,_  
>  _The birds still sing when they fall from the sky._  
>     
> King For A King - Will Varley

The first leg of their journey was uneventful to Bilbo's intense relief. He'd quickly worked out that space travel was not as exotic as he had been anticipating. Meals were taken in the kitchen at set times to maintain a regular schedule, and everyone had their chores (some more than others). The rest of the time, the crew took exercise in the cargo bay, or lounged around in the common area chatting or playing cards. 

Out of shyness, he'd tried to keep to his cabin and get on with cracking the encryption on Thrain's blueprints. It was quite a pleasant place to be, with its cheery yellow walls and cosy bed, but it wasn't big enough to work in.

After about a week and a half, Bilbo had tried working in every single space imaginable. Kitchen table, med bay, engine room, even the bridge. He'd even contemplated using one of the suits and sitting out on the hull just to get some quiet, until eventually Ori had suggested they set up a make-shift office in one of the shuttles. And finally, he was able to settle. 

Although vexing, all the moving around had been good for Bilbo; it had forced him out of his comfy room and into the paths of the crew. And he found, despite first impressions, they weren't as...well, _mercenary_ as he'd first thought. He'd even go so far as to say some of them were good company. 

It did rather seem that the crew didn't really know what to do with him though. They treated him with a sort of bemused indulgence, like he was some kind of brilliant yet highly strung eccentric. Which was entirely at odds with how Bilbo saw himself. He thought he was quite down-to-earth; he certainly possessed a good deal more common sense than a large swathe of his relatives (or so he told himself).

They were pleasant enough in their own ways, and they did _try_. He'd done some cooking with Bombur (that had gone down very well). Bifur and Bofur had spent an afternoon explaining the inner workings of the _Mercator's_ engine. Bilbo appreciated the effort, but they might as well have been explaining witchcraft for all that he understood. He'd fared better during an impromptu astronavigation class with Felix. He'd tried to get his head around just how _big_ space was, and then ending up both terrifying himself and giving himself a headache. He'd had to go for a lie down after that. 

Fili and Kili had insisted on teaching him how to assemble, load, and disassemble their 'babies'; two very heavy shotguns (Fili's), one sniper rifle (Kili's), and assorted pistols. It was like being in the presence of a two man army. They'd even offered to teach him how to shoot, providing they made port somewhere with enough space. It was kindly meant, but it disturbed Bilbo more than anything (he didn't like the idea of using a gun, and he certainly didn't like to think how two twenty-somethings became so familiar with them). 

And Thorin...all Bilbo could say about Thorin that he was consistent. After the first day, he'd gone from a brief flicker of amiability to being taciturn, dour, and grumpy. Consistently taciturn, dour, and grumpy. It was like the _Mercator_ had its own small storm cloud, rolling around and raining on everything. Nobody else seemed to pay it much mind, so Bilbo just assumed that was the way he was normally.  

**************************

It was fortunate that the journey to Rhudaur only took three weeks, because by that point Bilbo had had enough of space travel and was starting to go a little stir-crazy. The day before they were due to land, the crew were sat down around the kitchen table for their evening meal. It seemed like he wasn't the only person keen to get off the ship; Bombur was practically _pining_ for fresh vegetables. 

"I can't wait to get off the ship and stretch my legs," sighed Bilbo, resting his hands on his now full stomach. "I think I shall take a walk around the town tomorrow."

The crew gaped. Somewhere down the end of the table, someone sniggered. 

"Walking around Rhudaur on your own would be inadvisable," said Balin. "It's a bit...rough."

"Oh. How rough is 'rough', exactly?"

"You'll get mugged," said Nori matter-of-factly. 

"Surely not in broad daylight?"

This was met with a chorus very much to the affirmative. 

"Oh, some of these Rhudaur types'll have the clothes of yer back and skelp ye fer fun o'it," Bofur chimed in. 

"Ye stick out some," added Dwalin. 

Bilbo looked at his empty plate and realised that he was, yet again, out of his depth. It was becoming an alarmingly familiar feeling. 

"No one goes anywhere alone tomorrow," rumbled Thorin. "That goes doubly for you, Mr Baggins."

Bilbo blinked. Was that- was that _concern?_ For his _wellbeing?_

"Your work is invaluable and we cannot jeopardise the mission by letting you wander off and get into trouble."

He sighed inwardly. Close enough. 

"We go and get what we need. Refuel, resupply and get off that godsforsaken rock, _dông ma?_ " The crew nodded. 

"You couldn't get me off this ship and onto Rhudaur if you paid me," Felix muttered darkly.

"We _are_ paying you," replied Thorin. 

"You got any pressing need for me to go planetside?"

"...No."

"Then I am staying right _here_." Felix patted the arm of her chair. "'Sides, someone's gotta look after the ship."

 "Jus' be ready for us to leave in a hurry," said Dwalin. Thorin glared daggers in his direction. "When've we _not_ needed to?"

After a minute's silence, where Bilbo could almost hear the frantic turning of cogs in Thorin's skull, he sniffed and said, "Tomorrow will be the exception."

"Oh yeah," whispered Kili next to him, "this is gonna go great."

An sudden, insistent beeping made Bilbo jump and distracted Thorin from whatever he'd been about to say to Kili. Everyone looked at Felix, who sighed dramatically. 

"It's fine. It's just the proximity alarm. I'll go and check it out." She rose, snatched the last remaining bun from under Fili's questing fingers and ambled off towards the bridge.

"What's out there?" asked Bilbo.

"It is mostly like to be some debris. Or perhaps another ship passing. It's nothing to worry about," replied Gandalf airily from the other end of the table. Bilbo did not miss the concerned look he and Balin exchanged though. It did not ease his nerves. 

"Another ship? Not many come this far out...and f'good reason," said the ever-helpful Gloin. 

"Orcs," hissed Kili with gruesome delight.

"Orcs?"

"Cannibals," Fili added with equal relish. "They prowl the black looking for ships and raid 'em..."

"Hardly leave any survivors..." finished Kili. The brothers managed to contain themselves for a moment, then started sniggering at Bilbo's pale and terrified face. 

Bilbo was about to swat the both of them about the head for teasing him, but then Thorin slammed his fist down on the table, making more than Bilbo jump. " _Bìzuî_ ," he snarled. "Orcs are not a joking matter. I expected better of you. Both of you."

"We didn't mean it, uncle," Kili said, hanging his head guiltily.

"No. You never _do_ ," he spat back. Thorin shoved back his plate and stalked off towards the crew quarters. 

"Everthing's shiny, Cap'n," said Felix as she bounded back into the common area. "Just an old CommSat." 

Thorin grunted unintelligibly as he brushed past. She shrugged and resumed her seat, looking around in confusion at the sudden shift in the mood around the table. 

"Did I miss something?"

"An ill-timed joke," explained Balin, casting a sympathetic look to the now-morose brothers.

"Forgive me if I'm speaking out of turn," said Bilbo, "but was that not a bit of an over-reaction?"

"Maybe," conceded Balin. "How much do you know about Orcs...about Erebor...and Moria?"

"Just what I could find on the Coretex...They're opportunistic raiders...uncivilised savages." He looked at the faces round the table. "Aren't they?"

"Would that they were. The Verse would be a much safer place..."said Bofur. Even his moustache seemed to droop unhappily. 

"Gorram Alliance propaganda," growled Dwalin. 

"I'm afraid the Alliance hasn't exactly been honest in this regard," said Balin, shaking his head. "What happened on Erebor was no opportunistic attack. Our systems went down, we were blind and they hit us within the hour. It was a precision strike, Bilbo. They knew exactly where to attack to cripple our military and we lost so many civilians because we couldn't get a warning out. You know Smaug better than anyone. Tell me, do you think that Smaug could have been created by the creatures the Alliance portrays?"

Bilbo shook his head dumbly. Smaug was...magnificent in its complexity. And he'd always been lead to believe that the Orcs came _days_ or _weeks_ after Smaug, that the attack had been sheer coincidence. The Alliance had _lied_.

"But why..."

"Why hide it? At the time, Erebor had the strongest defences in the Verse. Smaug and the Orcs tore through them like paper..."

"Erebor was notoriously secretive about its technologies," injected Gandalf. "So when it fell, many in the Alliance failed to realise the significance of the attack. There is a belief that those who lived are...exaggerating events."

"We tried to get word out at first," continued Balin. "To tell people what had happened. But the Alliance first tried manipulating us and then resorted to discrediting us survivors at every turn. They said that we were too traumatised to remember things correctly. It was so quick and so brutal that we left everything behind, so we had no evidence. Some of us gave up, accepted refuge in exchange for corroborating the Alliance's story. Some of us did not. We kept pushing the Alliance to recognise the threat, but they still refused.

"And then there was Moria. About a decade after Erebor fell, some of us were still drifting. No one would take us in, you see, not whilst we were so insistent about what happened. We got a wave from the leader of Moria saying that a hundred Orc ships had emerged from Durin's system and were heading right for them. They hadn't our defences, nor our weapons. They would be slaughtered.

"Thror, Thorin's grandfather, organised what remained of our fleet and we went to their aid. No one wanted to see anything like Erebor happen again. By the time we arrived, the capital was almost overrun with Orcs. It was like we'd landed in hell itself. 

"I was on the same transport as Thorin and his sister, Dis, but his brother Frerin was on the same ship as Thror and Thrain. It was hit by a missile and went down behind the Orc lines. We tried to rescue them, but it was too late, Orcs'd breached the hull. We saw Thror torn apart by the throng...we never found Thrain's body, and Frerin..." Balin drew in a shaky breath and gathered himself. 

"There was one amongst the Orcs who they called Azog, giant and pale as a corpse, he appeared to be their leader. We sought him out, hoping beyond all hope that if he fell, the others would break and run. Thorin set off a grenade at his feet - almost blowing himself up in the process - and all that was left of Azog was a smoking crater. Leaderless, the Orcs broke. The resistance rallied behind Thorin and we drove them out but we lost so many that day. Some we never identified, their bodies were so badly mutilated.

"The Morian government offered us refuge, but none of us wanted to stay on a planet where we'd buried so many loved ones. After everything, we gave up trying to make the Alliance see sense and focused on looking after our own.

"We believe Moria was chosen for a reason; it's rich in plutonium and uranium. If the Orcs had taken it, they would have had more than enough resources to make bombs with enough force to level half a planet. The Alliance offered no help, not with the defence of the planet nor with the rebuilding so Moria declared their independence a year later."

"I remember," said Bilbo. He'd only been eleven or so, but it had been on all the news vids and the Alliance had been furious. Moria had been one of the first planets to leave and the Khazd system had followed not long after.  

He frowned. "Let me get this straight: the Alliance are actively spreading misinformation about Orcs because they think that having an _unorganised_ marauding hoard roaming the Verse is somehow better for public morale than having an _organised_ marauding hoard?"

"Yes," said Gandalf. 

"And you don't agree?"

"Obviously not, otherwise I would not be here. Our commanders have been complacent about the seriousness of the threat. They have ignored the problem and instead of going away, it has grown larger. They are now trying to mitigate the eventual public outcry."

"Right," said Bilbo. "And everything I have been told about Orcs has, up to now, been a lie?"

"Well...not entirely," answered Balin. "There's some truth in it, which makes it all the more believable, but here's what we know: they're humans in body but not entirely in spirit. They disfigure themselves and desecrate the bodies of the dead, and they torture and kill without mercy. This much is true. But they're certainly not without mind, they're as clever as you or I."

"That almost makes them scarier," admitted Bilbo and Balin nodded. 

"They can fly well enough," Felix said, glowering at the table. "Ain't nobody can fly a ship without some form of learning." 

"And the cannilbalism? That's an exaggeration, right?"

"Oh no," said Balin grimly, "that part's true." 

Bilbo blanched. 

After that uplifting conversation, nobody really felt like sitting around the table chatting anymore. At the earliest possible opportunity, Bilbo excused himself and scurried back to his quarters. He did not emerge for the rest of the evening alternating between a deep sadness for Thorin and the crew, and utter terror, having been told that his childhood boogeymen were much, _much_ worse than he'd been led to believe. In this case, he thought he rather preferred ignorance.

He fell into a fitful sleep, disturbed by dreams of being ripped apart by monsters whilst a faceless man in a uniform told him that everything was fine and there was nothing to fear. Bilbo woke in the early hours, sweating and shaking. He did not sleep again that night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chinese:
> 
> _Bìzuî_ \- 'Shut it'   
> _Dông ma?_ \- 'Got it?'
> 
>  
> 
> Who doesn't love a good conspiracy theory, eh?
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! Comments, questions, kudos etc are always appreciated. And I'm on tumblr (more than is healthy) if you want to say hi.


	5. Please Excuse The Bruises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It went off like Krakatoa, like Rocky Balboa,_   
>  _I didn't know where I was_   
>  _Please excuse the bruises, drink got me into this,_   
>  _I didn't know where I was_
> 
> Trouble On Oxford Street - Skinny Lister

Their little cock-up must have evidently been forgiven, as Thorin allowed Fili and Kili to sit at the bridge whilst Felix landed the _Mercator_ on Rhudaur. They weren't allow to touch anything though. And were definitely not allowed in the co-pilot's chair. 

Fili couldn't help but grin as they followed the curve of the dusty planet below. They'd been stuck in the passenger dorms on their descent onto Shire, and Thorin had been in a tetchy mood when they'd left, so Fili hadn't had chance to see what it was like. Pretty gorram awesome was the answer. 

"Shaw Port Control, this is the _Mercator_ requesting permission to land."

" _Mercator_ , state your ship size and business," called an official voice over the comms. 

"Three-eighty by two-ten. Just stopping for parts," replied Felix. 

 There was a nervous moment's wait and Felix drummed an impatient tattoo on the console.

"You are green for docking. Please use bay four. You need an assist with repairs?"

"We got it covered. ETA seven minutes." 

Flicking off the external comms, Felix punched the button connected to the internal tannoy system. "We got clearance so belt up, gang."

Next to him, Kili fidgeted impatiently. Fili clearly wasn't the only one excited for the next part. Buttons were pressed, switches were flipped and the control stick twiddled. The ship vibrated a little and the windows streaked with colour; a little at first, but then the whole bridge lit up with flickers of red and orange light. 

After one particularly violent judder, Felix tapped the control stick gently. "Easy there, old girl."

"Everything alright?" asked Thorin.

"Yeah. She just hates Rhudaur as much as I do."

Fili snorted with amusement; she always spoke about the ship like it was a living, breathing thing, complete with feelings and opinions all of its own. And he was beginning to suspect that she was onto something; Kili swore up and down that his cold shower problem had only started _after_ he'd called the _Mercator_ a piece of _fèi wù_ and only stopped once he apologised.

Abruptly, the glow cleared and the sky turned a brilliant blue. The land swept past below them, a patchwork of beige scrubland and green wood. Then Shaw rolled into view. He'd not been expecting it to be a work of art, not after the stories he'd heard from his uncle and Dwalin. The entire city was the colour of rusted corrugated iron. Smoke belched out of tall chimneys, dotted across the skyline. It was as unlovely as he'd been told. 

The _Mercator_ docked, landing gently in the space reserved for it. Kili was the first out of his seat, tearing off to his cabin to get ready and Fili traipsed behind him. On the one hand, Rhudaur was new and exciting and also slightly dangerous. Which made it even more exciting. On the other hand, Fili found himself half-wishing to just stay on the ship. 

But his place was by his brother and Kili desperately wanted to get out and about. He grabbed a couple of pistols and buckled them onto his belt; his babies would have to stay at home this time. Thorin didn't want them to draw unnecessary attention to themselves. Having a couple of shotguns strapped to your back in the middle of town was a _little_ ostentatious, even by Fili's standards. 

Everyone, bar Fili and Kili, Ori, and Bilbo, had already been, so Thorin's lecture was mostly for their benefit. Don't get the attention of the Feds...keep together...don't go off alone...watch out for cutpurses...don't get lost...blah blah blah. Fili stopped listening after a while. It wasn't like this was their first caper (and it wasn't even a proper caper, it was a supply run), and Ered Luin wasn't exactly a warm and fuzzy place anyway. It would be _fine_.

"... _dông ma?_ "

"Yes, uncle," he and Kili obediently chimed. As soon as his back was turned, they both rolled their eyes at each other. 

Bilbo, meanwhile, looked alarmed.

"Don't worry, Bilbo!" Kili whispered as the cargo bay doors opened. "Stick with us and everything'll be shiny."

"Mmm," he replied noncommitally. 

The afternoon sun that streamed in made Fili blink, but it was warm and it wasn't the darkness of space. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. That was his first mistake. 

" _Wô de mā!_ What the hell is that _smell_?"

Next to him, Kili retched and Bilbo coughed politely. Ori had clamped one of his sleeves over his nose, eyes streaming. The rest of the crew chuckled. 

"Methane, lad," said Balin, his voice taking on a nasal quality as he desperately tried not to inhale through his nose. "They pump it up from beneath the surface and process it here. Useful stuff, stinks to high heaven though."

"Must have forgotten to mention it," Thorin added, smirking slightly. 

"Get going!" yelled Felix from the gantryway above them. She wore a pair of flight goggles and a scarf wrapped around the lower half of her face. Clearly they'd _all_ 'forgotten' to mention it. "You're letting all the good air out!" Reluctantly, the crew left the ship and Felix closed the doors behind them.

*****************************

It wasn't _so_ bad once Fili got used to the smell. He still preferred not to use his nose to breathe though. It had been quite a productive afternoon, all in all. Bifur had remembered where the best scrap yards were from last time, and knowing they'd be there for _ages_ whilst he mooned over parts they could scarce afford, they'd gone there first. Get it out of the way. 

Thorin and Bofur first had to negotiate Bifur down on what they actually _needed_ for the _Mercator_ and what he just wanted to make her 'happier' (he was just as bad as Felix). Then Thorin and Bofur had to negotiate with the scrapyard owner to get a decent price. That had taken at least an hour. 

Then they'd needed to trek halfway across the gorram city to find some fuel cells from someone Thorin actually trusted not to rip them off. And somewhere along the way, Gandalf had gone AWOL (although no one seemed that bothered, knowing he'd turn up again eventually). 

Bored, Kili had followed directly behind Thorin, talking a mile a minute. They finally reached the fuel merchant and Thorin had told them to scarper for an hour. He was so predictable. They'd dragged Bilbo with them, because, like them, it was his first time out in the Verse too. They'd have taken Ori along as well, but Dori had clucked at them like a demented hen and shooed them away. 

Halfway down the dusty street, a consensus was reached that they could do with a drink and a sit-down (that was Bilbo's contribution to the plan). And as if by magic, a bar appeared. It was made out out of old shipping containers and had a large sign out front, proclaiming that they served 'Beer, gin, or whiskey. No firearms allowed'. It sounded perfect. 

An attendant took their pistols at the door and placed them in a locker. Fili swiped the ticket from Kili's outstretched hands; his brother would lose his head if it wasn't attached and Fili liked those pistols. His ma had given them to him before they'd left. They swaggered their way over to the bar and ordered three of whatever wouldn't make them go blind. Kili, as usual, started to flirt with the barmaid. Fili left him to it and concentrated on taking in their new surroundings. 

It was a dive bar; sticky floors, sticky tables and smelly, drunk customers. Even on the other side of their solar system, they were all the same. He was a little disappointed. Some of the patrons gave them appraising looks, but Fili met their eyes challengingly and they turned back to their drinks. They weren't looking for trouble, but they weren't going to take any shit either. Now that he'd cleared that up for everybody, he took a swig of his drink. It tasted like engine oil and he had to force himself not to spit it out. It got the Rhudaur smell out his nose though, probably by killing all the nerve endings off. But it was a start. 

He was just about to settle down when he noticed a couple of things almost simultaneously. Firstly, there was a third drink just sitting on the bar. He thought this was strange. Then he remembered that Bilbo had come with them and realised he wasn't stood anywhere nearby. And then he heard a familiar, tremulous voice carrying across the low hum. 

"Just _what_ do you think you are doing? No-no. Put me _down_!"

He and Kili turned and saw Bilbo being lifted up by his waistcoat by some ugly, muscle-bound, silver-toothed thug. 

"Whatd'you want in 'ere, runt?"

"Nothing. Absolutely _nothing_."

Fili shared a look with his brother; this was _his_ bright idea so _he_ could go and fix it. Kili sighed, put his drink down on the bar and strolled over.

"Sure look's like somethin'. You a Fed?" The thug shook him threateningly. 

"A what? No. No, I'm not a Fed."

"That's good. Gimme yer credits."

"You're going to want to put my friend down, nice and easy," Kili said amiably. The man gave Kili a once over. Scrawny and about a foot shorter, the idiot thought Kili wasn't worth bothering about. First mistake. 

"Or what? You gonna slap me?" The snide remark got a few laughs, but for the most part, the bar was silent and still with people waiting to see what would happen next. 

"I said, 'drop him'." 

The friendly tone left Kili's voice and Fili could see him shift his weight slightly. As slow as he could, so as not to attract attention, Fili slipped his hand into his coat pocket and wrapped his fingers round his small short-wave radio. Thorin had handed them out before they left the ship. 'Just in case', he'd said.

"Shove off, brat." 

The lumbering moron turned his attention from Kili back to Bilbo. Second mistake. Kili's foot swept out with frightening speed and connected with the man's kneecap. It made a revolting popping crunch sound and he fell to the ground howling, Bilbo forgotten.

He threw a grin back to his big brother and Fili nodded proudly. That had been well done; minimum effort, maximum damage. Minus points for the cocky smirking though. And traumatising Bilbo, who looked like he was about to puke. 

The thug was definitely as stupid as he looked; instead of staying down and admitting defeat, he lunged at Kili and smacked him square on the jaw. Kili stumbled back, dazed, and the man grabbed his shirt, pulling his arm back for another blow. 

Fili was already halfway across the room, before he heard a sickening _crack_. The man stood for a moment, blinking in confusion, and then all expression cleared from his face and he collapsed. Fili looked at Kili, then at the prone man, then back to Kili, and then finally to Bilbo, who stood over the now-unconscious thug, brandishing a chair and looking like he wasn't sure what had just happened. 

"Nicely done, Bilbo!" mumbled Kili through his fat lip. 

And then, because nothing ever, _ever_ went right, a large group of men, with much the same build and look as Bilbo's new friend, scraped their chairs back and rose ominously from their seats. 

"'Ere!" said the one with huge ears. "Didjoo see wot he just' did t'our Bert?"

"I rightly did," replied another with a nose like a squashed aubergine. He cracked his knuckles. 

The other four patrons in the bar were wise enough to take this as their cue to leave and they scrambled out the door. That left Fili, Kili, and Bilbo (with his chair) against seven. Even Fili balked at those odds. 

Backing away slightly, he pulled the radio out of his pocket and hit the button. "Uh, Thorin?" 

Instantly, the heavies started to move towards them. Kili launched himself into the fray with a yell, and Bilbo waved his chair menacingly at them. 

"What?"

"We got some local colour. Bar down the north end of the street."

Fili could _feel_ the eye roll from here. "Copy that."

With utmost calm, he put the radio back and upended a table into the path of three of the group. And then set about trying to beat ten shades of shit out of anyone that got near Bilbo. 

It was harder than he'd have liked. He'd had training, and he'd been in his fair share of brawls, but these guys...they took punches like they were feather blows. And there were seven of them. And they seemed _really_ intent on getting to Bilbo. 

After a few minutes - felt like an age though - and one punch to the face that had Fili seeing stars, the cavalry  finally arrived. Thorin, Dwalin, and rest of the whole sorry lot of them burst through the door, took one look at the scene and drew their weapons. 

And that _should've_ been the end of it. But that left hook to the face had distracted Fili long enough that Aubergine Nose had slipped past him and was now resting the muzzle of a pistol on Bilbo's temple, whose nose was now streaming blood. Apparently, the firearms rules only applied to _other_ customers.

"Drop yer weapons or yer'll be scraping 'is brains off the walls."

The risk that he'd shoot Bilbo before one of the crew could slot him first was too great. And Bilbo was too important for them to even chance it. Defeatedly, they threw their pistols to the floor, which were swiftly collected by one of the gang. The crew were ushered at gunpoint into the middle of the now-trashed bar.

"Look who we got 'ere, William..." said Aubergine Nose. He waved the pistol in Thorin's general direction. 

"Oo?"

"Dis 'ere is Thorin Oakenshield. 'Member that nice little job we pulled a few years back, an' the cargo went mysteriously missin'?"

"Yeah. Mysterious, it was." 

Fili sighed quietly. They'd be here all night at this rate.

"It were 'im that stole it."

Understanding (finally) crossed William's face and he made as though to lunge for Thorin. 

"Now, now. They'll get what's comin' to 'em all in good time."

Aubergine Nose's control over William only went so far and he backhanded Thorin across the face.

In spite of this, Fili glared at Thorin; this right here was exactly the kind of information he would have defined as pertinent - 'avoid X bar or Y group because last time I was through here I screwed them over' sort of pertinent. 

So now they had no weapons to speak of, were in the process of being tied up by a bunch of violent criminals with a grudge. If they resisted, they were likely to get shot. If they stayed, they were likely to get shot. He _knew_ he should have stayed on the ship.

*****************************

Bilbo, strangely, did not feel frightened as the ties were slipped around his wrists. Someone - he not been keeping track of names - had hit him in the face, taken his chair and then held a gun to his head, and even then he'd not been frightened. No, he'd gone through the initial fear, straight past terrified, via angry, and was now experiencing something best described as righteous indignation. 

_'Right'_ , he thought, _'You're not dying here, Baggins, so get thinking.'_

The crew - now disarmed and bound - were basically useless. As was he, come to mention it. Not that he'd had any weapons on him for them to confiscate in the first place. And it was then that Bilbo remembered that they'd not bothered to search him. At all. And he still had one of the short-wave radios that Thorin had distributed before they'd left the ship. And it was in his back pocket. 

So he turned it on. Gandalf and Felix would hear and come and rescue them. Probably. 

Bilbo thought that the details of their situation could possibly do with some clarification, so he cleared his throat and addressed their captors, who were currently trying to decide the best way to revenge themselves upon Thorin. 

"You don't want to kill us."

Inwardly, he breathed a sigh of relief that his voice transmitting from the two other radios in the room just sounded like a loud echo. First hurdle, overcome. Now all he had to do was keep his finger on the button and keep talking. 

"Oh don't we?" sneered the leader. "An' why's that?"

"Well, consider the mess for starters. There's fourteen of us. That's fourteen lots of blood and brains you'd have to clean up."

To a man, the crew snapped their heads in Bilbo's direction and gaped in shock. He ignored them and pressed on. 

"Not to mention disposing of the bodies. I don't suppose you have a handy rubbish dump nearby and carting us out into the wilderness would just be such an effort on your part."

"S'got a point, Tom. Shootin' em d'make an awful mess. And the nearest place to dump 'em would be a twenty minute drive away."

"So we strangles 'em instead," replied Tom with violent glee. "An' we incinerates 'em at the factory down the way."

Bilbo sucked in a breath through his teeth. "That's going to be such a nightmare for you though. You've seen this lot; necks like tree trunks. It'll take at least...oh...five minutes to get the job done properly. And as I said, there's fourteen of us. It'll take you an hour. Maybe more because you'll need to rest in between."

Tom and William and the rest turned their backs to the crew, and muttered to each other in a concerned fashion. They were too stupid to work out that more than one of them could be a strangler at any one time. Bilbo would have laughed, had his very life not been in peril. 

"Bilbo, what de ye think yer _doin'_?" Bofur hissed. 

"Playing for time. Now shut up." He cleared his throat and spoke to the gang once more. "It won't be enough time, you know. We missed our rendezvous and the rest of the crew will be looking for us. I shouldn't think they'll be much longer in finding us," he said, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible whilst fervently hoping that what he'd said was true. 

"So what would you suggest?" asked William. 

The absurdity of the question threw Bilbo for a moment. But William appeared to be in earnest, as did the rest of them. "Well," said Bilbo, "I'd say we're not worth the bother. Really. How much was the cargo worth?" he asked Thorin.

"Four thousand."

Ah. That would explain why Tom, William and Bert were so annoyed (or at least Bert would have been, if he hadn't been unconscious and drooling on the floor). 

"Four thousand. How about you let us go and when we're back on our ship we'll reimburse you the cost and let bygones be bygones? That seems like the most equitable arrangement, don't you think?"

" _We're not doing that!_ " yelped Kili, amidst the low complaints of the crew. Bilbo rolled his eyes and cast Thorin a dark look. 

A summary elbow to Kili's ribs fixed the problem. "No, no. It's the perfect solution, very fair. Very equitable." He nodded emphatically. 

Unfortunately for Bilbo, Tom had seen fit to apply his limited intellect to the suggestion and found it lacking. "I think that yer tryin' t'play us for ruttin' idiots. Ye've no intention of payin' us, and there ain't no crew comin' for youse, little man. We ain't gonna kill youse right away. Oh no, we're gonna make you suffer first. One a day should keep us right entertained for a couple o'weeks. See, we owns dis bar. And we does wha'ever we likes in it."

"Let's start wiv 'im!" William cried, pointing squarely at Bilbo. 

Bugger. Tom dragged Bilbo up to his feet, his giant fingers digging hard into Bilbo's arm. Bugger. Bugger. Bugger. 

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Bilbo almost cheered with happiness at the familiar voice. Gandalf strolled into the centre of the bar, his cane tapping smartly on the floor, and took in the scene with amused resignation, like they were a bunch of rowdy toddlers squabbling over toys. 

"Ooo're you?" spat Tom.

"Please put my friend down. I don't think he's entirely comfortable."

Tom threw Bilbo down to the ground and started to square up to Gandalf, as did the other heavies. 

"We'll be going now," Gandalf said breezily. "Don't try to pursue us, it won't end well for you."

Before Tom or William could reply, Gandalf twirled his cane, dropped to one knee and slammed it to the floor. The silver ball on the end popped into the air and sent out a pulse of blue light at head-height. Tom, William, and their minions collapsed into large heaps on the floor. 

The ball snapped back into place on Gandalf's cane and he rose, smoothing out a non-existent crease on his trousers as he did so. The crew were silent for a moment, brains still attempting to process what had just happened, and then the cheering started. 

Gandalf retrieved a knife from behind the bar and cut them all loose. The crew dashed about, picking up their weapons and rummaging through the unconcious gang's pockets. Bilbo was the last to be cut free, and as he brought his hands back round to his front, he realised he was still holding the button on the radio down. 

As soon as he released it, a nervous voice crackled back over the speaker, "Err. Guys? What the hell is going on? Guys? Anybody?"

Thorin reached into his pocket and pulled out his own radio. "Nice of you to make an appearance. Prep the ship, we'll be back in twenty."

"Hey, don't take this out on me. I'm just the pilot, not the gorram search and rescue."

"Just prep the ship, Felix"

"Gotcha. Hey, does this count as 'leaving in a hurry'? 'Cos if it does Fili owes me coin."

With an exasperated noise, Thorin turned the thing off and rammed it back into his pocket. 

"Nice trick you have there." Thorin nodded at Gandalf's cane. 

"Yes," said Gandalf happily. "It's something my good friend Radagast invented for occasions...well, rather like this one actually." 

"But I'm curious...how did you know where to find us?"

"A work of genius on Bilbo's part." They both looked at Bilbo and he felt his cheeks growing hot. "I knew roughly where you would be, but he got enough information out of them for me to triangulate an approximate location. Very clever indeed."

Thorin scrutinised Bilbo with an unreadable expression, then nodded his head in thanks and gave him a small smile. 

"Uncle! Come and look at this!" Fili called from the other end of the bar. It appeared as though he'd found a secret door of some kind and was getting rather excitable about what was inside.

Confused, Bilbo watched Thorin cross the room to investigate. He'd had three weeks of Thorin being a complete sourpuss, so this was an unexpected and pleasant change. Thorin had quite a nice smile, when he applied himself to the concept. In a brief flight of fancy, it reminded Bilbo of sunlight peeking out through gaps in a storm cloud. Bilbo shook his head to clear it. Now was _hardly_ the time. In an attempt to stave off any more unwanted poetic comparisons, he wandered over to investigate the cause of the crew's excitement. 

Somehow, Fili and Kili and Nori had managed to locate and then open a well-hidden and thumb print secured door at the back of the bar. It led into a cavernous room with a dizzying array of guns on the walls and mountains of crates. There was something for everyone, and the crew were grabbing everything they could carry and were filling - in one case literally- their boots. 

Gandalf took only a cursory glance around the room, and then marched decisively over to one wall which held two very sophisticated looking rifles on hooks. He frowned deeply. 

"Is there something the matter, Gandalf?" asked Bilbo. 

"These are classified Alliance weapons - top secret - so I am surprised to see these here at all." He took down one and examined it. "This is an Orcrist rifle. You see the serial number here?" He tapped on an engraved number on the stock. 

"05/08," read Bilbo. 

"This is the fifth of eight that were made...laser weapons, but using blue light wavelengths rather than red. They are much more powerful as a result. Thorin!," Gandalf called. "Take this."

He handed the Orcrist over to Thorin, who turned it over in his hands briefly, then shoved it back under Gandalf's nose. "Alliance _goushî_."

"You will not find a finer weapon," he chided. Thorin scowled, looking like he was about to protest, but then he slung the rifle strap over his shoulder and turned away. 

"And this is a Glamdring." He took the remaining gun down from the wall. It was leaner and longer than the Orcrist, and Gandalf held it to his shoulder and looked down the sights with a practiced ease that perturbed Bilbo. "I don't think anyone will mind if I take this for myself," he said, a cheeky twinkle in his eye.

"Finish up! We leave in one minute," shouted Thorin. 

Bilbo went to help a struggling Ori carry some motherboards he'd 'acquired', but Gandalf called him back. He held a small box in his outstretched hands. 

"Take this."

Bilbo opened the lid of the box and then pushed it back into Gandalf's hands. "I _can't_ , Gandalf. I don't even know how to shoot. I don't even know if I _could_ shoot somebody."

"And I pray you never have to find out. But please, take it anyway. For my sake."

Reluctantly, he took the box from Gandalf's hands and examined the contents again. Inside the soft, moulded lining, lay a dark grey pistol with the numbers 07/08 on the grip.  Before he had time to think about what it was he was holding, he heard Thorin bellowing for him to hurry up. Bilbo snapped the box shut and scurried to find the others, feeling somewhat more trepidation than before.

 

**********************************

No sooner had the Mule glided through the cargo doors of the _Mercator_ , Thorin radioed Felix to go. Bilbo felt the ship rise smoothly into the air and scurried off to find somewhere to sit down. The lurching and juddering as they broke Shire's atmo combined with the weird sensation as the gravity adjust had taken over from the planetary gravity had made him feel most peculiar last time. And standing up was most definitely not helping _this time_.

But once Felix had given the all-clear over the comms, he'd started to help the crew unload the parts they'd picked up, along with the fuel cells they'd bought (Gloin held him personally responsible for the fact they didn't have time to haggle for them, and instead went to rescue Bilbo), and whatever else they'd scavenged from the bar in Shaw. 

"You guys look like you had fun," called Felix, appearing on the walkway above them.  

Kili had a split lip and nasty scuffs on his knuckles, Fili's eye was turning an impressively vivid shade of purple, Bilbo had blood spatters all down his third best waistcoat and his nose throbbed _horribly_. "Hardly what I'd describe as fun," he replied with a sniff. Fili and Kili's shared grin told a different story. They were incorrigible. 

"You look like you had fight with a troll."

"Something like," Fili replied ruefully.  

"Bilbo hit one with a chair. It was _brilliant_ ," added Kili. 

Felix cast her eyes to the ceiling and muttered under her breath. " _Nī dōu shì bāichī_...You get the parts?" she asked Bofur. 

"Aye. An' then some. We near enough had to drag this one away." He thumbed towards Bifur, who pulled a face behind Bofur's back. 

"Shiny. The old girl'll be singing a merry tune when they get fitted."

"Are you going to stand there ogling or are you going to help us?" snipped Dori when Felix made no move to help or leave. 

"Aaaaannnd, I just remembered I have pressing pilot things to do." Felix pushed off from the railing and ambled back up towards the bridge. "And don't forget you owe me money, Fili!"

"Yeah, yeah," Bilbo heard him huff. 

It took them a while, but they finally got everything tidied away. Bilbo excused himself from the evening meal and socialising and went and hid in his room. It had been a long day and he just wanted to rest. The box with the gun in was swiftly secreted away. Out of sight, but not quite out of mind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chinese:
> 
> _fèi wù_ \- junk  
>  _dông ma?_ \- got it?  
>  _Wô de mā!_ \- Mother of God!  
>  _goushî_ \- shit  
>  _Nī dōu shì bāichī_ \- You're all idiots.
> 
>  
> 
> It's a Firefly/Hobbit mashup...a bar brawl was practically obligatory. 
> 
> Once again, thanks for reading! And thanks to everyone who has left a comment or kudos. May your plans always go smooth.
> 
> In all seriousness though, I'm having so much fun with these little herberts and it's great to know other people are enjoying the mayhem too.
> 
> LASTLY, I would thoroughly recommend checking out Trouble On Oxford Street. Skinny Lister do great bar brawl/ shanty punk tunes XD


	6. What A Beautiful Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _What a beautiful day (hey hey)_   
>  _I'm the queen of all time_   
>  _And nothing is impossible in my all-powerful mind_
> 
> Beautiful Day - The Levellers (feat. Imelda May)

The whining of an alarm dragged Felix out of the lovely nap she'd been in the middle of. She complained audibly, yawned, stretched, and then rolled out of bed for another exciting day of space travel. 

Mal had always said that the war, for him at least, basically consisted of long periods of boredom followed by short bursts of frantic activity and terror. Occasionally shenanigans. But mostly boredom. Felix thought that this was a pretty accurate description of being a pilot too. It was only when planets or other obstacles were involved that she was really needed. And space was deceptively big, so that didn't happen all that often. She'd gotten real good at keeping herself occupied. 

The last few jobs she'd done on her own. The silence hadn't bothered her (she'd just blared music out the internal comms system), and she'd been kept plenty busy, fighting with a certain transport ship that seemed determined to try and fall out of the sky at any available opportunity. And how much she'd enjoyed _that_.

This time though, there were people. All the cabins were full, rather than just her rattling around on her lonesome. There was laughter and conversation again and it reminded her of home. Hell, even the ship seemed happier. According to Bifur, her last mechanic had been a gorram moron. Bifur'd insisted on fixing things that she'd thought were running fine and now the _Mercator_ was so happy, she was practically purring. Having a crew around was better. For both of them. 

Felix yanked on a spare t-shirt she'd found on the floor and pulled on her overalls over the top. Hurriedly, she splashed her face with water and coaxed her unruly ginger curls into a hair tie. Unfortunately, having a crew also meant there was competition for food, which meant getting up early to get the choicest picks. Before dashing up the ladder from her quarters, she blew a kiss in the direction of a shelf where a small plastic dinosaur stood alongside a picture of a stocky, ginger man and a tall, dark woman, their arms around each other and smiling.

She was lucky. Only Bombur and Dori were awake. Everyone else was still sleeping off residual excitement from their fight a couple of days before. She'd heard the tale recounted at least fourteen times during the last two days. It sounded _thrilling_ and made her grateful - yet again - that the only fighting she ever did was against gravity. 

Bombur handed her a coffee (Felix didn't even need to tell him how she took it now, he just remembered which in itself was a thing that made her smile), and she sat down quietly next to Dori. He was not a morning person. Not even a little bit. They drank their coffees quietly and enjoyed the 0600 calm. 

Snagging a piece of toast and a second cup of coffee, she made her way back up to bridge. Nothing had shown up on the instruments overnight (and if it had, the _Mercator_ would have had a crisis and woken her up). Downloading the news bulletins was mostly pointless - they were full of gossip about core worlders on their fancy rocks - but occasionally, snippets of actual news leaked through. Of interest to Felix was anything about recent Orc attacks. They never came this close to the Eriador system anyway, but it was always best to check.

No Orcs today, but the Crusier _Rivendell_ had just started a tour round this end of the Eriador system. Their own course would need adjusting to avoid it. Cap'n's orders. Felix bounced the full bulletin down to Thorin and Gandalf's quarters and the Shire bulletin to Bilbo's, as per their requests. 

Next came the fun task of sifting through the vast quantities of _goushî_ that ended up in the ship's source box. Junk, junk, junk, wave from Fili and Kili's mother (bounced down to their quarters), junk, junk, scrambled text wave for Gandalf (she didn't want to know), and more junk. 

Another cup of coffee, and then it was time to work out the course adjustments. The Alliance never told people where their patrols were going - something about it being classified or some crap - but it was never that hard to work out. Taking into account the nearest planets, there were a few possibilities, so Felix programmed in the most likely first and calculated adjustments for the others. Just to be on the safe side. It took her the best part of the morning. 

That done, it was time to inspect the ship. Thorin had crawled out of his quarters and was sat at the kitchen table, glowering at a book. At the sound of her boots, he raised his head and opened his mouth but Felix got there first; it'd been the same question every morning for the last three weeks. 

"Everything's shiny, Cap'n. We got an Alliance patrol floating around out there, but I've adjusted our course so we should slide right on by without ever appearing on their sensors."

He grumbled something along the lines of 'making sure she kept an eye on it' combined with some descriptive Chinese about the Alliance's collective mother. Then he went back to reading. Felix shrugged to herself and left him to his own devices. 

She got it, she really did. The Alliance had been a pain in her parents' ass, they were a pain in _her_ ass, and if she ever had kids, they'd probably be a pain in _their_ asses too. And that was without the whole 'oh shit, where did my planet go?' issue. But being so angry all the time must be exhausting. It probably explained a thing or two about the way he was, though. Poor guy. 

The _Mercator's_ engine hummed cheerfully and the light it threw off bathed the room in golden warmth. The ship's heart was beating nicely. Bofur sat in a corner on a pile of cushions, pipe in mouth, legs outstretched, watching as Bifur tinkered under the engine casing. 

"What's the project for today?"

"Strippin' and re-covering yer G-lines," replied Bofur. "Bif says they're close t'snapping. Yer last mechanic was..."

"An idiot? Yeah, tell me something I don't know. How's she doing otherwise?"

"Just fine _mèimei_ , no need t'worry. There's a couple more things Bifur'd like t'get for her, but they're not essential."

"Send the bill to the Captain, he's footing it," Felix said with a grin. Bifur finally looked up from his work, gave her a wave, and then turned his attention back to the task at hand. 

Next stop was Bilbo's office. Felix liked to pop her head round the door every so often. Mainly to remind him when it was time to eat, but also make sure the skiff was, y'know, still _there_. Ori and Bilbo were typing furiously away and only gave her a cursory greeting. Judging by the frantic technobabble, they were onto something important. 

Gandalf had taken residence in the opposite skiff, made it proper fancy too. Felix half expected to find a real wooden writing desk in there one of these days. As it was, no more random furniture had made an appearance today. She ran the new course by Gandalf and they had a lengthy conversation about Alliance patrol movements. Technically speaking, Thorin was captain, but he couldn't find his way out of a paper bag _on a good day_. Felix reserved the right to consult with an expert. 

Gandalf'd been the commander of Cruiser _Mithrandir_ long before she was crawling. He'd picked her up for illegal salvage on _Mithrandir's_ last ever tour and it was on a routine ship search that he'd found her favourite bit of pretty. They'd had a _long_ chat about that, then Gandalf had turned her loose with a slap on the wrist and a favour owed. Felix hadn't expected him to call it in at the time; the old guy had been about to retire after all. Apparently, retirement didn't suit him.

Lunch was never a proper sit-down meal, just a grab-what-you-fancy affair. Felix took a slab of protein and a coffee with her back up to the bridge. All the instruments were ticking over just fine, nothing on the scanners, and the windscreen looked just how she liked it: black with a shit load of stars. 

Her favourite part of the day was just after lunch. The more spry members of the crew had designated afternoons to exercise in the cargo bay. Weights, ball games, and the like. Felix never took part, just watched, legs dangling down from one of the walkways. 

Dori had once ungenerously called it 'ogling'. She would have described it as 'appreciating the natural manly aesthetic'. And if she thought about it (which she did...frequently) it wasn't all that different from stopping to admire the flowers. Really attractive, sweaty, muscly flowers. That lifted things. 

Of course some types of flower she liked more than others, but could appreciate the pleasing nature of the other flowers just as well. 

After that and another quick check of the scanners, and it was time for dinner. Every time she thought that there was no way in the Verse that Bombur could _possibly_ do it, he surpassed himself. This time, a casserole. With real meat. And dumplings. And vegetables. 

Bilbo had come out of his shell more since the infamous Chair Incident of two days' prior and had started to establish himself as quite the dinner-time storyteller. His anecdotes of living on Shire and his whole brood of stuff-shirt relatives had the rest of the crew in stitches. Felix had even caught Thorin smiling a little at some of the tales. 

The crew liked to sit about and talk, or play cards way into the early hours, but Felix preferred sitting in her comfy chair on the bridge, listening to distant laughter. Some nights, she slept out there, putting her feet up on the console and grabbing a blanket from one of the lockers. When she'd been on her own, Felix had put a bed roll out on the floor and just stayed there all night, hating the idea that something might creep up on her. 

But with crew about, there was always someone awake. Ori and Gandalf liked to work late into the night, and Bombur, Bofur and Bifur always woke up unfeasibly early, so if something happened whilst she slept, mostly likely someone would be up to come and get her. 

Not to mention the _Mercator's_ hair-trigger scanners. The old lady was more nervy than she was at times. 

Still full from her meal, Felix rolled back to her bunk and crashed out on the bed, cuddling up to her pillow. She needed to send a wave to her momma and the septic vat needed doing (not that the two were related), but those were jobs that could wait until the morning. Content and warm, she settled down. Within five minutes, Felix was fast asleep and snoring. 

*************** 

_'BEEP BEEP BEEP'_.

Felix shot out of bed. That was the wrong alarm to be waking up to. It was the _worst_ alarm to be waking up to. In a scramble, she tugged on the overalls she'd dropped on the floor and shinned up the ladder as fast as she could. Thorin, Balin and Dwalin were climbing out of their own quarters as she stumbled up the steps to the bridge. 

"Wassit, lass?" mumbled Dwalin after her.

"Proximity alert."

Huffing and complaining, the three men staggered after her. Felix plopped down onto her chair and hit a button with more force than necessary, turning the ship-wide alarm off. 

"Let's see what you've dragged me out of bed for today, you moaning old bint... Is it another commsat? Asteroid? Passenger ship? A scary, scary, abandoned cargo box?"

She stared at the screen for a few moments and all the colour drained from her face.

" _Wō bù xiānxìn zìjî de yānjīng_...we are so humped!"

"What? What is it?" Thorin peered over her shoulder; all he could see on the screen was a blur of static. 

"Orcs. It's Orcs. A whole rutting flock of 'em."

" _Tāmāde_ ," Dwalin hissed. 

The majority of the crew arrived just in time to hear Felix's assessment, the stragglers picking up one word above all others.

"Have they seen us?"

"Orcs? Did-did she say Orcs?"

"Here? This close to Alliance territory?"

"Mahal preserve us."

" _Bìzuî_!" Thorin glared at the crew, who fell into an uneasy silence. "Someone get Gandalf."

Ori nodded and sprinted off down the corridor. Thorin turned back to Felix and examined the screen once more. 

"How do you know?"

"See this here?" She pointed at a fuzzy dot on the screen. "It's a ship-"

"But that doesn't mean anything," interrupted Kili from over Dwalin's shoulder. "It could be just a random junker."

"No. This around it," she traced over a circle of interference, "this is a radiation halo. They take old transport vessels, passenger ships, and the like and strip the containment shielding on the fuel cells. Let's them push more power into the engines but at the risk of overloading them and spontaneously exploding..."

"That's genius," said Bofur in an admiring tone. "Aside from t'radiation issue... That's fairly terminal."

Thorin shot him a look. Now was really not the time. Gandalf swept through the crew and onto the bridge, instantly taking command of the situation. 

"How many? Have we been detected?"

"It's difficult to say...I count...seven, maybe eight ships. As to being spotted... I don't _know_. I mean, look at this, Gandalf! They're moving in a formation...I've never seen them act like this," said Felix desperately. 

"It's a search pattern, designed to get the most range out of their scanners," said Gandalf. "They know we're out here. Once they find us, they will give chase."

Orcs were opportunistic. If a ship was unlucky enough to stray across their path, they would take it. But this? This was organised. They were looking for them. Specifically. Nobody said it, but it was written across everyone's faces. This was a _hunt_. The implications of that were truly horrifying and Felix shuddered.

"So we run before they see us," suggested Dori. He was barely containing his panic. 

Thorin shook his head. "If we go for full burn, they will definitely see us."

"You could say that, yeah," spluttered Felix. "It'd be like lighting a 200ft neon sign that says 'All You Can Buffet Here'. Gandalf, do you think a Rhosgobel would work with this many?"

"I honestly don't know. Do you have rabbits?"

"Got six, ready to go." A yellow light flickered into life on the control panel. "Shit a brick, we're being buzzed!"

"Do it," ordered Gandalf. "It looks like we're running after all."

"Deploying rabbits now." Felix reached up and flicked a switch marked 'Bunnies'. The crew heard the distant noise of machinery clanking away in the bowels of the _Mercator_.

"Rabbits?" asked Thorin.

"Random Binary Transmitters," explained Gandalf. "They send out pulses of broad spectrum binary, which appears as interference on their scanners. It will make us harder to track. Another one of Radagast's brilliant inventions."

"They'll give us enough time to get some breathing space at least," added Felix. "Figure out where it is we're gonna actually run _to_."

"Just get us out of here," barked Thorin. "Balin, Dwalin, stay here. Bifur, Bofur, I want you on standby in the engine room. The rest of you, I want you armed and ready should the worst happen. GO."

Out of the corner of her eye, Felix saw the crew hurry off. Engaging the manual control stick, she pressed a series of switches, drawing a surge of power from the fuel cells and slammed a satisfyingly large, red button. 

Thanks to the rabbits, the _Mercator's_ own scanners and nav systems were also rendered useless. Navigating by eye in space wasn't easy, but it was do-able. Especially given the right incentive. Keeping the splodge of a nearby nebula to the left corner of the main window, Felix tacked the ship left and right, relying on the rear vid cameras to pick up any pursuers that might have snuck up and hidden in their wake. 

A tense ten minutes later, three of the screens flickered back to life. 

"Nav system and scanners are back online, Cap'n."

"Where are they?"

"Way behind, bearing ninety degrees to our starboard."

"We've lost 'em," said Dwalin.

"No," corrected Gandalf, "we've confused them. Once their instruments are working, they will find us again."

"Felix, show me a map," said Thorin. 

"I can tell you, without even looking, that the nearest place we can hide is two weeks out. We have four more hours left of maintaining this speed in the fuel cells, then we're drifting. And that's assuming that they don't catch up to us anyway." 

Felix looked across expectantly towards her captain. She'd already pulled one bright idea out her ass today, the next one was his responsibility. The lost expression on his face was not a comfort. 

"The _Rivendell_ ," offered Gandalf. "Commander Elrond is an old friend. He would be willing to help."

"Absolutely not," snarled Thorin. "I'll not let this venture be jeopardised by seeking refuge with our enemy."

"Thorin, don't be a fool," Gandalf shot back. "We have exhausted all other options. This is our only choice."

"He will try and stop us."

"So will the Orcs," muttered Felix ominously. 

Warring with himself for a few moments, Thorin eventually reached a decision. "Can we make it?"

Based on the _Rivendell's_ last known location, their estimated speed and direction, they would be forty four minutes away at full burn. The Orcs would clear the interference field generated by the rabbits in seven and catch up to them in about thirty.

"Yes," lied Felix. Better thirty seven minutes of hope than of blind panic.

"Then we make for the _Rivendell_ ," he said with a sigh. 

Keeping one eye on the scanner, she punched in the new course. Thorin and Dwalin left to break the news to the rest of the crew. Seven minutes later, she activated the internal comms; the Orcs were clear of the rabbits and had started the chase. 

Twenty-one minutes later, the _Rivendell_ appeared as a blur on Felix's screen. Under Gandalf's watchful eye, she hailed the ship.

"Cruiser _Rivendell_ , this is Firefly Transport _Mercator_ requesting immediate assistance."

" _Mercator_ , this is military vessel on a classified operation. We are not here to help civilians."

Felix cussed impressively under her breath. This was _exactly_ why half the galaxy hated the gorram Allied Planets. Bunch of smug, officious pencil-pushers. Gandalf drew his eyebrows into an impressive frown and gently lifted the mic from Felix's hands. 

"This is Commander Gandalf Greyhame abroad the _Mercator_. Invoking Stormcrow Protocol One. Now, get me Commander Peredhil."

There was silence, and then a different voice answered. 

"Gandalf, to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"

"Elrond, my old friend, we seem to be having a spot of bother with some Orcs."

"Ah. That explains the small flotilla appearing on our radar. Maintain your current bearing. I'll send some fighters out to intercept. Peredhil out."

Giving a satisfied nod, Gandalf sat back down on a free chair. Felix opened her mouth to ask, then thought better of it. 

The Orcs were still gaining on them, faster than Felix had calculated. She suspected that there must be next to no containment panels left. She could almost admire their determination if they weren't so intent on trying to eat her and desecrate her ship. 

The _Rivendell_ loomed into view; a huge, gleaming, twin-pronged vessel that dwarfed the _Mercator_. There was no sign of the fighters that Elrond had promised and the Orcs were almost within spitting distance. 

"Everyone might wanna to hold on to something," Felix called over the comms. "This could call for some creative flying. Bofur, prep the thrusters for a one-eighty flip."

"Roger that."

Dropping the ship out of hard burn, she tightened her grip on the control stick, fastened her seat harness, rolled her shoulders and cast a brief prayer to her ancestors. 

"Why have we slowed down?" demanded a panicked Thorin. 

"Everything's shiny, Cap'n," she said in her most soothing voice. "I got a cunning plan."

"Felix, we're set for one-eighty, just give the word," Bofur said. 

On the rear vid screen, Felix caught a flash of movement and sent the _Mercator_ into a roll as a ten foot spear sailed past, narrowly missing the port thruster.

"Aww, hell no." The Orcs had gotten close enough for Felix's liking. "Bofur, punch it on my mark. Three...two...one...mark."

Both thrusters span a full one-eighty, flipping the ship end-over-end, directing it straight into the line of Orc ships that pursued. 

"Felix..."

"Yeah, Dwalin?"

"I don' think tha' this is the direction ye wantae be goin' in."

"No, we're good."

The _Mercator_ accelerated towards a narrow gap in the middle of the line and Felix prepared for another surge to the engines. Her hand hovered over the button and she waited, hoping that the crazy manoeuvre would startle the Orcs for long enough. As they passed amidships, Felix initiated a hard burn.

The blowback from the engine all but incinerated the closest two Orc vessels, and the debris tore through the remaining Orc ships like buckshot. The _Mercator_ looped lazily back round towards the _Rivendell_ in time to see a trio of fighters blitzing towards them. 

A hail of missiles struck the stricken Orcs and their ships blew apart. Problem solved. Felix slumped back in her chair and blew out a breath; that had been _much_ too close for her liking. 

" _Mercator_ , release control of your vessel. We're bringing you in," ordered a crackly voice over the comms.   
   
Clicking the control stick back into place, Felix letting the _Rivendell's_ guidance system pull them into the docking bay. Growling to himself, Thorin unbuckled his seat harness and stomped off, giving Gandalf a vicious glare as he did so. 

"You're welcome!" Felix called after him. 

"Ach, don' mind 'im, lass," murmurred Dwalin. "This is just the last place any o'us wantae be." He looked suspiciously up at the Cruiser. 

"I assure you, Dwalin, there is nothing to be concerned about. The commander is an old friend, he will treat us well," said Gandalf. Dwalin grunted noncommitally in reply, and the pair followed after Thorin. 

Balin came over and placed a hand on Felix's shoulder. "That was some fine flying."

"Yeah, well, the old girl's still got a bit of zip in her, given the right persuading."

"Truly, I haven't seen flying like that since Moria. I think you'd have given Dis a run for her money back in the day."

"She's a pilot?" asked Felix with surprise. Nobody said much about Fili and Kili's mother, what little had been said was always in reverent tones. She commanded a lot of respect and Felix was curious. 

"Used to be."

"What happened?"

"Moria. Her husband - the boys' father - was the pilot of the ship that Thrain and Frerin were in..."

"The one that went down?" 

"Aye. She had two bairns to bring up on her own and she didn't want to wander around the galaxy any more. But I think it was more complicated than that."

"She lost the heart for it," Felix stated and Balin nodded sadly. 

The pair gazed out of the window, lost in their own thoughts, until the _Mercator_ connected with the _Rivendell's_ airlock with a thud, jolting them out of their reveries. 

They accompanied each other down to the main doors where the rest of the crew had aleady gathered, ready to receive whatever welcoming party Commander Elrond saw fit to send them. Felix felt more than a mite uneasy, although this was based on past experience rather than a current assessment of the situation. She'd spent her whole life trying to avoid the attentions of the Alliance and now they were knocking on their door and asking for aid. It felt _wrong_.

Still. It was a damn sight better than getting et. And she'd always wanted to see what one of these big buggers looked like from the inside. And if this Peredhil had Gandalf's vote, Felix was willing to go on a little faith.   
 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chinese:
> 
> _goushî_ \- shit  
>  _mèimei_ \- darling, literally 'little sister'  
>  _wô bù xiānxìn zìjî de yānjīng_ \- I don't believe my eyes  
>  _tāmāde_ \- fuck  
>  _bìzuî_ \- shut it
> 
>  
> 
> In which I think we are all Felix...the little perv.
> 
> Thanks once again for kudosing and commenting, and tagging along for the ride. You guys are the best.


	7. Sons of Liberty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _So if ever a man should ask you for your business or your name,_   
>  _Tell him to go and fuck himself, tell his friends to do the same,_   
>  _Because a man who'd trade his liberty for a safe and dreamless sleep,_   
>  _Doesn't deserve the both of them and neither shall he keep._
> 
> Sons of Liberty by Frank Turner

The _Mercator_ attached to the _Rivendell_ with a gentle bump. In the cargo hold, Bilbo stumbled slightly as he made his way to the large doors by the main airlock. To say that the crew did not look happy was an understatement of astronomical proportions. They had the look of people who had been made to suck lemons whilst simultaneously being stung by bees. 

The exceptions to this were (of course) Gandalf, who merely surveyed the scene with an impassive expression, and Felix, whose ever-present curiosity appeared to have been piqued. As for Bilbo, he fervently hoped that the welcome they would get would be a pleasant one. It had been a long day, he was _very_ tired, and the appearance of the orcs had been quite taxing on his nerves. 

A hiss followed by a beep signalled that the seal between the airlocks was good. Felix pressed a large blue button on the control panel and the doors opened. Bilbo observed that the crew had all now puffed themselves up like territorial tomcats and he and Felix were ushered into the middle of the group. 

Bilbo wriggled his nose in displeasure. This latest display of ego-fuelled machismo was _most_ unnecessary.

Guns trained on them, a squad of Alliance soldiers burst through the door. Thorin slowly raised his hands, glaring darkly, and the rest of the crew followed suit. Bilbo did not miss the brief twitch of Dwalin's hand to his belt and the empty holster there. Thorin had been wise to insist they disarmed. 

"Really, Corporal Lindir," Gandalf said disparagingly, "I don't think this is entirely necessary."

"Sorry, sir," replied a young, dark-haired man who led the group. "We had to be sure it was you first." He threw Gandalf a sharp salute, then motioned for his men to stand down. "These are dark times, Commander."

"Indeed. Where is Commander Peredhil?"

"He should be along in a few moments, sir. He was just finishing up a-"

At the sound of boots tapping down the hall, the young corporal sprang to attention, as did the other soldiers. A tall, thin man in a smart military uniform strolled through the doors. He scrutinised the crew for a few moments, until his gaze alighted on Gandalf and a slow smile spread across his face. 

"Ah, Gandalf, it is good to see you again, my old friend."

"Elrond, _ya sadeeqi_ , you haven't aged a day." A smile broke over the Commander's aquiline features and he clasped Gandalf's arm warmly. 

They drew apart and Elrond scrutinised the crew, eyes finally alighting on Thorin. "Lord Oakenshield. I knew your grandfather when he was alive. I was sorry to hear of his passing."

" _Lord?!_ " hissed Bilbo, unable to help the outburst. Dori elbowed him in the ribs. He knew that Thror had been Lord of Erebor, certainly, but he'd not realised that the title was hereditary. It gave things rather a different spin. 

"He made no mention of _you_ ," spat Thorin. Bilbo cast his eyes to the ceiling. Lord or not, Thorin had all the social grace of a drunk hedgehog. 

Elrond raised his right hand to his heart, his lips, and then his forehead. " _As-salaam wa alaykum_."

"Does he offer us insult?!" Gloin bawled right down Bilbo's ear.

"No, Gloin, he is guaranteeing you sanctuary," said Gandalf, exasperated. He returned the gesture, adding, " _Wa alaykum as-salaam_. On behalf of all of us."

The Commander smirked slightly but said nothing, only waving his arm for them to follow him. With Gandalf and Elrond at the head, and the corporal's men behind, the crew were escorted through a narrow, gleaming white corridor.

It was not long until they reached the end, coming out onto a circular balcony that ran round the edges of a giant atrium. Bilbo took a peek over the edge and saw that it was hundreds of feet high and they were somewhere in the middle. Bridges crisscrossed the vast expanse of space above and below them and glass lifts soared between the floors. It was so _light_ and _open_ , and it was everything Bilbo had imagined a spaceship would be like. The view left him breathless with its expansive majesty; a testament to the Alliance's ingenuity. 

Ori joined him, leaning precariously over the railing to get a better look, Felix and Kili not far behind, chattering excitedly. Bilbo glanced over his shoulder: Bifur was more interested in examining a door panel than the view, and the rest of them were practically welded to the walls. Nori and Fili watched their brothers nervously, hands jittering, ready to lunge forward and pull them back by the scruff should they fall. Bofur was chewing on his pipe, focusing on the bowl with single-minded determination. Thorin and Dwalin glared and Balin had gone a delicate shade of green. Heights, it seemed, were not for everyone. 

Felix let out a low whistle. "See what they've done here?"she said, pointing up at the network of bridges. "They've used the walkways as braces for the internal structure...means the ship won't crumple the first hit it takes."

"...And look at the scrollwork underneath!" gushed Ori. 

"Oh yeah, yeah! Masterful!"

"Do you think they'd let us have a look at the weapons systems?" whispered Kili.

"And listen!...No engine noises! Bet it has the turning circle the size of a planetary orbit though..."

"I wonder if I might be allowed to sketch some of the architecture in here. It's not classified or anything, is it?" Ori cast a worried glance at Elrond, who smiled beatifically at him. 

"The _Rivendell_ is the Alliance's new flagship, so naturally her basic specifications are available on the Cortex," said Elrond. "You are welcome to draw to your heart's content, although I must ask that you try not to enter into any restricted areas."

The last part was clearly for the benefit of the entire crew, judging by the look Elrond gave Thorin. Elrond ushered them along the balcony to the main bridge on their level. Bilbo, along with the three awestruck young ones, ambled across happily, craning their necks to look up through the very centre of the ship. The rest hurried behind, clearly of the opinion that the less time spent on the vertigo-inducing structure meant they would be less likely to plummet to their deaths. 

Not that they would. The atrium was packed full of accelerometers, so the minute something started to fall, the grav nets would kick in to catch it. Bilbo'd written that programme himself; an afternoon's side project for Gandalf. He elected not to mention it. There had been plenty amusement taken from his various discomforts since they'd left Shire, and it was about time the tables were turned. 

A meal had been prepared for them (a gesture of which Bilbo whole-heartedly approved), and to his surprise, he was invited to dine alongside Gandalf, Elrond, and Thorin at the top table. Initially, he'd been quite happy about this arrangement, but as the meal wore on things became increasingly tense. Especially when Elrond had started to ask questions as to exactly _where_ they were going. 

Gandalf had tried to bluster his way out of it, but, as is the way with old friends, Elrond had seen right through his attempts. He had impressed upon them that they were guests, not prisoners, but that their current course was unwise. And in any case, without the necessary travel permits, Elrond was obliged to escort them back to the Eriador system and into the custody of local Alliance forces. Even Gandalf's arguments could not sway the commander. Laws were laws, and Elrond was bound to enforce them, no matter his personal opinions. 

Incandescent with rage, Thorin had stormed out. It would have had more of an impact had he not had to be shown the way to his new quarters. Things had become somewhat more subdued after that and they'd all retired to bed not long after. 

Bilbo was devastated. The adventure had only just begun and they were being sent home. Despite his initial reticence, being punched in the nose (which still hurt), and almost being eaten by orcs, Bilbo found he was quite enjoying himself. Not that he would ever, _ever_ admit it, privately or otherwise. And he was so tantalisingly close to cracking the encryption on the Arkenstone files, he could almost taste it. It was maddening to fail before they'd even got anywhere.

So when, at breakfast the next morning, Dwalin, Fili and Kili had proposed a campaign of civil disobedience, Bilbo was in. They had a week until they reached the Forodwraith skyplex, and then it would all be over. They had to at least _try_ to escape. 

Anti-climatically, Bilbo's part in the mayhem was to carry on doing exactly what he'd been doing before: working on Arkenstone. Probably for the best. There were various clandestine goings-on however - packages being exchanged and data sticks being palmed off. Elrond's people were either idiots or deliberately not paying attention, because the crew weren't nearly as sneaky as they liked to think they were being.

It probably didn't count as civil disobedience if one had to ask permission, but as part of the campaign, Gandalf had managed to arrange for Bilbo to spend some time in the _Rivendell's_ firing range. His tutors were Fili and Kili: an arrangement that Bilbo greeted with mixed feelings. They were (allegedly) exemplary marksmen. They were also, however, Fili and Kili. 

"Ok, Bilbo," said Kili, as the three of them stood in a booth at the end of the shooting range, eyeing up the humanoid-shaped target at the end, "this is a laser weapon, so there shouldn't be any recoil, but on the off chance there _is_ , hold it with both hands, it'll give you much more stability. One-handed is the advanced class," he leered.

Fili, leaning nonchalantly against the wall of the booth, snickered at the innuendo. "I did that once with one of the shots, y'know..."

"Yeah? How'd that go for ya, _gēgē_?"

"Not well, my brother. Almost broke my damn nose."

"Shame. Might've improved things." Kili shot Fili a shit-eating grin.

Bilbo cleared his throat loudly before it could descend into another brawl. "When you've both finished...I hold it like this, yes?"

He pointed the pistol down the range and closed one eye, squinting down the sights. 

"Almost," said Kili. "Don't lock your elbows, keep 'em loose. Your hands won't tremble as much then."

"And open both eyes," added Fili. "We got two for a reason. And for Mahal's sake, don't put your tongue between your teeth. That's a brilliant way to bite it off."

Closing his eyes, Bilbo collected his nerve (and his patience). The gun- pistol, Fili had insisted on it being called - was heavy in his hands and his palms were hot and sweaty. 

"When you're ready, Bilbo, take a couple of deep breaths," said Kili. "You want to gently squeeze the trigger at the point between the inhale and the exhale."

He did as he was told, and after a couple of false starts, he fired the pistol. It jolted ever so slightly in his hands, but was nowhere near as bad as he'd been expecting. A bolt of buzzing blue light shot out of the end, striking a foot to the left of the target. It left a small, glowing red crater in the concrete wall. 

"Well done, Baggins!" cheered Fili, clapping him on the back. 

"Nice shot!" said Kili, clearly impressed. 

"I missed."

"Yeah, but you were close! If Mr Target had a friend, you'd have definitely hit him."

"You should have seen Kili's first go with an air rifle. He couldn't hit a brick wall at thirty paces."

"Fuck you, Fee," Kili replied cheerfully. "I was eight. Right, now let's go again. I wanna see how many shots you can get off on this thing before it needs to cool down..."

After three hours, Bilbo's arms ached and his eyes had begun to twitch with tiredness, but the grouping of his shots had narrowed considerably and he could now hit the target. Not well, mind. But Kili declared it a start anyway. Bilbo was certainly more comfortable using the pistol than before.  He still wasn't sure how he felt about using it on an actual sentient being, but the boys had assured him that you either acted on instinct or died. It was not as reassuring to Bilbo as they'd evidently intended it to be. 

The pair vanished, doubtless to wreak havoc on some other poor unsuspecting victim, leaving Bilbo to wander alone. He was grateful for the quiet; it helped him collect his thoughts. Lost in his own little world, he didn't hear the footsteps until their owner rounded a corner and crashed into him. It was Thorin. 

"What the- My apologies, Mr Baggins, I'm afraid I was not paying attention," said Thorin stiffly. 

"Oh no, no. The fault was mine. I'm still a little shellshocked."

"Yes, my nephews tend to have that effect on people." Thorin shot Bilbo a wry smirk.

"They're good lads. Silly, at times..."

"Mmm. They are both light of my life and the bane of my existence," he dead panned. Bilbo's chuckle died away, leaving an uncomfortable silence. "I was coming to find you actually. Were you heading anywhere in particular?"

"No, I was just taking a stroll."

"May I-?"

"Of course," replied Bilbo.  

The two fell into step next to each other, and Bilbo rammed his thumbs into his waistcoat pocket to stop himself twiddling them nervously. 

"How are you finding everything?"

_Well,_ thought Bilbo, _this is new_. "Err. Fine. Yes. Good. The Orcs were a bit of a nuisance. And I could have done without being punched in the face."

Thorin snorted, amused. "And Arkenstone?"

"Decryption is progressing nicely. It's taken us a while to work out the cypher Thrain used to code everything with, but we got there in the end. I've never seen anything so complex... He corresponded each character of the Latin alphabet with different celestial bodies. That's thirty-six characters, including numbers, to thousands of stars and planets. Which would have been quite easy to solve, just write an algorithm to pick up the pattern and go from there. But then we realised that the pattern was changing, only by increments, but changing nonetheless. Which rather rained on our parade. Ori worked it out - quite brilliant, that boy - that the stars and planets in the code were relative to a fixed point -"

"The Peak Observatory on Erebor..." murmurred Thorin, half lost in memory.

" _Exactly_! So once we'd figured out _that_ , the rest was quite simple. We rooted out a real time star chart for those co-ordinates on Erebor, factored in rotation and orbital position, and overlayed _that_ with the existing decryption algorithm I wrote and now it should just be a matter of waiting a day or so whilst everything ticks over and the files unlock."

Bilbo sucked in a breath and realised, with some embarrassment, that he'd been wittering again. "Sorry, I tend to get a bit carried away..."

Thorin smiled indulgently down at him. "It's perfectly fine," he said, waving his hand. "I understand it when _you_ explain it. Ori tries and it just sounds like a completely different language to me."

He hummed in agreement. Ori did have a tendency to assume that everyone understood computers the way he did. Bilbo opened his mouth, ready to ask Thorin about the observatory - somewhere which clearly had great personal meaning - when the sound of raised voices shattered the calm. 

Curiosity pulled them both over to the edge of walkway. On the level below Gandalf and Elrond were  walking along a bridge across the atrium, talking animatedly. Bilbo would even go so far as to say they were arguing. 

"They cannot be allowed to continue on their journey, Gandalf. You know this."

"I disagree. Erebor is of vital strategic importance and with the increase in Orc raids, it only makes sense to-"

"To allow Erebor to regain its previous military capacity would be a risk that the High Council cannot take. Arkenstone was too advanced, and the balance of power was already beginning to shift before Smaug," said Elrond. "It is better that it is lost."

"I understand your concern, but I fear a greater threat, one that Arkenstone could help us fight. Thorin would make a strong ally."

"And what if he shares his grandfather's ...instability, hmm? What then?"

A chill ran down Bilbo's spine; this was not a conversation he wanted to be eavesdropping on. He chanced a look over at Thorin's face and his heart sank. Thorin radiated a cold fury and glared at Elrond's retreating back with an expression of unadulterated hatred.  

"They have no right," he hissed. "No right to determine the fate of my people...No right to deny us the chance to rebuild our homes." And under his breath, more to himself than anything else, he added, " _And I am not my grandfather._ " 

Thorin closed his eyes, as though pained, and then turned briskly on his heel and stalked off the way they had come. 

Bilbo followed after him for a couple of steps, but then thought better of it. He doubted he could help. With a sigh, he started heading back for the quarters he'd had assigned to him. The thunderhead had rolled back in again and it was best to wait out its wrath. 

Feeling a sudden pang of longing for blue skies and daffodils, Bilbo flopped down onto his bunk. He missed home terribly. He missed his garden, and his books, and his armchair. He missed his daily routine, dull as it now seemed. A not insignicant part of his brain told him that all he had to do was stay on the _Rivendell_ , and soon he could return to that. 

A second, also fairly substantially sized part promptly walloped the first, reminding him that being a Baggins of Bag End meant seeing things through to their conclusion. No matter how taxing, stressful, or generally unpleasant that might be. He _had_ given his word after all. 

He awoke several hours later to an insistent rapping on his door. Stumbling, bleary-eyed and foggy-brained, he opened it and was confronted with Gandalf. His tie was askew. Something was terribly wrong.

"Wassit?" mumbled Bilbo. 

"You must leave at once," replied Gandalf, ushering Bilbo back into his room. "There is not a minute to lose."

Suddenly, Bilbo was very much awake. "Why? What's happened? What have they done now?"

"They? Oh, no. It's nothing the crew have done. I have just received word... The High Commander and the Grand Chancellor are on their way. When they arrive, the High Commander will place the ship on lockdown and there will be no chance for you to escape."

"You mean... _Saruman_...and _Galadriel_ are coming _here_? For _us_?!"

"That is exactly what I mean, Bilbo Baggins. Now if you don't get a move on, you will miss your window of opportunity."

In a scramble, Bilbo shoved what few clothes he'd moved from the _Mercator_ into a bag and started pulling on a jumper he'd discarded on the floor. Arm halfway through a sleeve, he stopped. 

"Hang on... You're not coming with us, are you?"

"I must speak with the Grand Chancellor. There is more behind that Orc fleet than happenstance, and I fear what this might mean." Gandalf caught sight of Bilbo's face and smiled softly. "Don't worry, my dear fellow. I will find you along the route. I dare say I still have enough influence to commandeer a _small_ ship."

Bilbo yanked the jumper over his head and grabbed his bag. He paused, trying to think of an appropriate goodbye; there was no guarantee that Gandalf wouldn't be in serious trouble for helping Thorin. 

"Chop chop," said Gandalf. "The others will be waiting for you."

"Right, yes." For lack of something more eloquent to say, Bilbo stuck out his hand and Gandalf shook it, whilst simultaneously steering him out of the room. 

Making his way down the corridor, Bilbo turned back to wave at Gandalf, but he had already vanished. The lights, dimmed during nighttime hours, cast dark shadows down the corridors, enhancing the already-present air of subterfuge. 

He'd made the journey to and from the _Mercator_ enough times in the few days that they'd been 'guests' on the _Rivendell_ that he found his way down to the docking bay without difficulty. Dwalin was there, waiting for him.

"An' tha' makes fifteen," he said with a small grin. He closed the airlock door behind Bilbo and radioed the bridge. "All accounted for, Thorin. We are green for takeoff."

"Roger that," came the reply.

"Ye heard the man." To Bilbo's surprise, Dwalin lifted Bilbo's bag off his shoulder and hoisted it onto his own, ignoring Bilbo's protests. "I'll pop this in yer room. Y'get on up t'the bridge."

Confusing and tired, Bilbo did as he was told. Judging by the stream of Chinese profanities that got louder as he approached, Felix was already there and was attempting to get the _Mercator_ out from under the _Rivendell's_ control. 

" _Guī wā tuófēng érzî!_ "

"Is there a problem, Felix?" said Thorin drily. He nodded a greeting at Bilbo as he entered. 

"Is there a problem? Is there a problem?! Of course there's a rutting problem! The rutting port codes that Gandalf gave me don't rutting work!" said Felix, near hysterical. 

Thorin sighed and began to massage the spot in between his eyes in frustration. Bilbo wasn't entirely sure at whom. "Try again."

Felix pulled a crumpled piece of paper across the console and jabbed the corresponding numbers on the screen. The screen flashed red. 

"Er, Felix?"

"Yes, Bilbo?"

"That's a five, not a six."

Felix brought the paper up to her face and squinted at it suspiciously. She deleted the offending number and replaced it. This time, the screen flashed green. 

"Port lock: disengaged," said the computer. 

"Shiny! Thanks, B! Cap'n?"

"Get us out of here." Thorin slumped down in the co-pilot's chair. Bilbo buckled himself in as Felix detached from the airlock and activated the thrusters. 

"Won't they notice that we're leaving?"

"Ha! _No._ Not until someone comes to look for us anyway," said Felix. "In their infinite wisdom, the Alliance decided to automate large parts of their Cruisers' systems. Luckily for us, one of those systems is the docking management system. All you need are the codes."

"Seems like an oversight."

"Yep," she agreed. "But the docking codes are top, _top_ secret. Only Alliance brass and selected personnel can access these."

"Alliance brass? You mean Gandalf?"

Felix grinned mischievously in response. "Much in the same way that only brass can access the classified deep space imaging satellites." From the pocket of her overalls, Felix produced a datastick and wiggled it in Bilbo's direction.

"Anything useful?" asked Thorin. 

"Checked it this afternoon. Erebor's space is completely devoid of Orc vessels. They must've got hungry and gone raiding. Provided it stays that way, I'd say we've got a clear shot. I've got some more data to go over for course adjustments as well, but that shouldn't take long and we've got plenty of time."

"Ok," said Thorin, slapping his knees and standing. "Get us far enough away from the _Rivendell_ so that chasing us will be more hassle than it's worth, then get some sleep."   
Felix gave a lazy salute. "You too, Baggins," Thorin added and then left.

Bilbo waited, listening to Thorin's footsteps as he tramped down to his quarters. Once the door had safely shut, he turned to Felix. "What about the Orcs?," he asked in a quiet voice. "I spoke to Gandalf earlier...The whole thing has him rattled. They were hunting us. Specifically _us_ , weren't they?"

"Yeah," admitted Felix. "I ain't never seen them behave like that."

"Why?"  
   
Felix shrugged. "Revenge, maybe? For Thorin taking out their leader. Other than that I got no clue."

"Do you think they'll find us again? We might not be so lucky next time."

"Space is pretty big, Bilbo, there are plenty of places to hide." She reached up and flicked the _jīnmāo's_ paw, setting it beckoning. "But they're not as stupid as the Alliance would have you figure; likely they know where we're heading or at least have a pretty good idea. If we get lucky, we might make it without them catching up with us."

It wasn't comforting, but Bilbo appreciated the honesty.  "I just don't get _how_. How they know Thorin's on this ship."

"Me neither. That's for Gandalf to deal with...seems right in his area of expertise. Ugh." Felix shuddered. "And just thinking about it gives me an uncomfortableness. It raises far too many questions that I ain't sure I want the answers to."

"You aren't in the least bit curious?"

"Yeah. But I like the kind of curiosity that _doesn't_ end with the proverbial cat being eaten and made into a hat."

Bilbo hummed. Biding Felix good night (or whatever time of day it was, space travel was confusing), he ambled back to his bunk. Despite the unsettling conversation, he felt...at peace. Still terrified, mind. But at peace. 

He'd missed the _Mercator_.  The _Rivendell_ was breath-takingly beautiful, spotlessly clean, and the height of technological advancement; the ideal spaceship. But he found he'd missed this ship. He'd missed the hum of the engine and the smell of cooking that wafted round, announcing one of Bombur's meals was almost ready. He'd missed his office on the skiff, and his little yellow bedroom. He missed the little things, like the noise of squabbling siblings, and the gaudy flowers that someone had painstakingly stenciled on the walls of the common area. 

It wasn't Bag End. But it was close enough for now. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arabic:
> 
> _ya sadeeqi_ \- My friend  
>  _As-salaam wa alaykum_ \- May peace be upon you.   
>  Reply: _Wa alaykum as-salaam_ \- And upon you be peace.
> 
> Chinese:
> 
> _gēgē_ \- Big brother  
>  _Guī wā tuófēng érzî!_ \- Frog-humping son of a bitch!  
>  _jīnmāo_ \- Maneki neko or lucky cat. 
> 
>  
> 
> Sorry this chapter took so long to post, real life and this chapter both conspired to kick my ass. 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! Your kudos and comments give me the push I need to keep going when these little buggers refuse to co-operate. So a massive thank you for that!


	8. The Endlessness and The Space Between

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _We started in the same place,_   
>  _This was gonna happen anyway_   
>  _All that's to come has already been,_   
>  _This is the endlessness and the space between_
> 
>  
> 
> Endlessness and The Space Between by Will Varley

Their escape from the _Rivendell_ was noticed, but not acted upon. The _Mercator_ had been hailed at some point in the night, politely suggesting they returned. They, of course, did no such thing and the _Rivendell_ was too far away to catch up to the _Mercator_ before it hit the Mists.

Thorin had been reasonably certain that they wouldn't try and follow them in; The Cruiser would be too large to navigate the dangerous asteroid field safely and would instead use one of the shipping channels cleared by the Alliance. Most vessels did - only experienced smugglers or the very foolhardy chanced the Mists. Felix had assured Bilbo that she was very much the former. She had, however, then taken a swig of her drink and then laughed so hard at something Bofur had said that water spurted out of her nose. Bilbo decided to reserve judgement on whether or not 'foolhardy' and 'experienced smuggler' were mutually exclusive. 

It would take them a week until they reached the asteroid field that separated the Eriador system from the Rhuvanion system and the crew relaxed. The deep space imagery that Gandalf had 'acquired' showed nothing in the sector of space they would be travelling through: it was empty. 

Bilbo, however, did not relax. He had _far_ too much to do. Thrain's files had been decrypted, allowing Bilbo and Ori access to the blueprints. Erebor had been notoriously secretive about the programme; it had been their crowning achievement and no one outside its leaders really _knew_ what it had been capable of. There had been speculation, naturally, but it fell utterly short of describing the beauty and complexity of the software. 

After two day's worth of staring at a screen, Bilbo was fairly certain that he was looking at the galaxy's most sophisticated AI. There were layers upon layers of coding, and there were sections that looked as though Arkenstone had written in its own processes. It appeared to be able to learn, analyse, and - in parts - understand and factor human emotions into its decision-making paradigms. It was simply extraordinary, and Bilbo began to understand why the Ereborians had been so protective of its secrets. The Alliance was at least ten years behind, even now. 

More than anything, Bilbo missed having Gandalf around. The old man would have been as excited as Bilbo and Ori both. Their discoveries were not without their downsides, however. Information was patchy, with large chunks missing from the files; Thrain had retrieved the initial blueprints, but not the finished article. 

But now Bilbo knew how Arkenstone had been created, he and Ori could build off the previous programmers' work, filling in the gaps, and making minor adjustments. To look at Ori, it was as though all his Christmases, birthdays, and Durin's Days had come at once. He became a frenzied blur of plans, sketches, and sticky notes, talking with increasing rapidity about Cortex-centred modifications and security upgrades. 

The rebuild would take time (along with a hefty supply of stationary and coffee). But it was definitely achievable. And the prospect of _finally_ getting the opportunity to get some proper work done put the spring back in Bilbo's step. 

At dinner one evening, several days after their escape from _Rivendell_ , Thorin waited until everyone was full and happy, before raising his hand for quiet. 

"We will be reaching the Mists tomorrow." 

The crew instantly sobered up. They'd all heard the stories: ships that had tried to make it through, away from Alliance radar, never to be seen again. Even the normally flippant Felix became grave. 

"I want to make it perfectly clear that whilst we're going through, no one is allowed up to the bridge without express permission. The pilots will need their full concentration at all times."

"Err, _pilots?_?" asked Felix. "As in plural?"

"Yes. We will take shifts and-"

"Yeah, I don't think so."

Thorin raised his eyebrows. "I beg your pardon?" he said dangerously. 

"There ain't a one of you who's done this before. I have. I know how the field shifts...how it moves. I'm sure some of you are perfectly adequate pilots, but no. This ship, she's my home. We been together a long time... So if anyone's gonna wreck her, it's gonna be _me_." 

Felix folded her arms and glared at Thorin defiantly. 

"Felix," he said, using his Trying To Be Reasonable tone, "it's a four day stint. You cannot physically pilot the ship for that entire length of time."

"I did last time."

"How?" asked Bilbo, incredulous.

"Coffee. And then when the coffee stopped working, 'phets. And then when _they_ stopped working, I pulled over for a nap. Added half a day on, but I made it through just fine, then stuck autopilot on and slept like a dead bear until Carrock." 

"'Phets?" said Fili. "You mean 'amphetamines'?"

"Yuh-huh. Got a whole stash of 'em in the med bay...What? How the hell else am I gonna stay awake?"

Fili sighed with exasperation. 

"S'a brilliant way t'give yerself a heart attack, lass," said Dwalin. 

Felix shrugged. "Best way to get it done. Look, I ain't budging on this one. Y'all have become good friends to me, and I trust you. But not with this."

Thorin and Felix stared each other down for a minute, before Thorin relented. "Fine. But I want someone supervising you at all times. If I'm going to indulge this stupidity, I want to make sure we all come out of it alive."

"Thought you said I wasn't to be distracted?"

" _Felix_."

"Ok, fine! Supervised at all times!" 

Thorin nodded in satisfaction, then left the table and wandered in the direction of the cargo bay. Felix waited until he was out of earshot before mutinously adding, " _Kêwù de lâo bàojūn_."

No one disagreed. 

***************

Bilbo tinkered in his office well into the night, after deciding that chasing answers to the Arkenstone problem was probably more productive than chasing sleep. He made a _little_ progress, and then celebrated by promptly falling asleep on his notes. 

He was awoken the next morning by Kili bodily yanking him up and out of his chair. 

"Get! UP! BOGGINS!"

"Baggins," he corrected sleepily. 

"You _have_ to come and see this!"

Kili towed him along by the sleeve, Bilbo stumbling behind in a struggle to co-ordinate feet that weren't quite awake yet. 

"What is it? It'd better not be another egg fried into an 'amusing' shape...because that, whilst a _little_ funny, wasn't worth being woken up for at half past five in the mornin- Oh."

"'Oh' indeed, lad," agreed Balin. 

With his attention more on putting one foot in front of the other, rather than where Kili was leading him, Bilbo suddenly found himself in the bridge and being shoved towards one of the windows. Towering over the _Mercator_ , in every direction that Bilbo could see, was the Mists; a greyish-red smear across the inky black. Patterns started to emerge, swirls of darker grey or smudges of orange and purple in amongst the mass. 

The more he looked, the more his eyes began to adjust and he began to make out some of the individual asteroids that made up the obstacle in front of them. Some of them were extremely large. 

"I don't suppose there's any way round, is there?" Bilbo asked hopefully. 

"Not unless you want to add another month onto our journey," replied Bofur, unreasonably cheerfully for the hour. 

"Hey, that one looks like a duck!" said Kili.

"I thought your eyesight was supposed to be good," Ori teased. "It looks nothing like a duck."

An insistent beeping sliced through Bilbo's contemplation of the scenery. The words 'Proximity Alert', written in large, red, alarming letters, flashed up on one of the screens. 

" _FELIX_!" bawled Thorin down the corridor. 

" _What?!_ "

"Get up here!"

Bilbo caught the words 'coffee', 'fuck' and 'you' from the muffled reply. Thorin sighed. Dragging her feet along the floor, Felix eventually appeared, surveying them all over the brim of a steaming mug.

"'Lo," she mumbled around a languid yawn. 

"Felix," said Balin and gave a significant glance at the control panel. 

"Got it." She slammed a button, silencing the alarm. With another wide yawn, she flopped onto the pilot's chair and span round in it lazily. "Pretty, ain't it?" she drawled.

"Aye, it's quite a spectacle," agreed Bofur. 

"You'll all have plenty of time to look at it later," said Thorin. "Balin and myself have worked out a rota. We will each take four hour shifts in the co-pilot chair. The rota is on the kitchen table, please familiarise yourselves with when you will be on duty. If anything goes wrong, call Balin, Dwalin or me. And Oin, if it's a medical issue. Baggins is on first watch, so the rest of you go and amuse yourselves."

The crew gave a vagueish salute and ambled down towards the common area, leaving only Thorin, Bilbo and Felix on the bridge.

"And can someone bring us breakfast?" Felix called after them. "And more coffee?" A disembodied voice yelled a reply in the affirmative. "Shiny!"  

Thorin leaned against the pilot's console and crossed his arms, frowning. "I don't like this, Felix. This is endangers not only the ship, but the crew as well. One tired mistake could kill us all."

"Yeah, but me on a bad day is better than all y'all on a good day, so... Not to fret, Cap'n, I'm the best gorram pilot in this sector of space."

Sighing, Thorin began to rub his forehead with his fingers. " You are the _only_ pilot in this sector of space. Just don't do anything stupid. And for Mahal's sake, don't have a heart attack; You're our best chance at making landfall on Erebor."

And with that, Thorin span on his heel, coat billowing, and stomped off down to the common area.

"Y'know," quipped Felix as she and Bilbo watched Thorin go, "I think he's starting to like me."

Bilbo snorted and settled down in his chair, as Felix engaged the manual control stick and deftly nudged the _Mercator_ around some encroaching debris and the pair began to chatter happily away. 

After his four hour shift as co-pilot, Bilbo swapped with Bombur and wandered off to his study to try and attempt some work. The knowledge that they were currently meandering through a shifting, treacherous mass of sharp, jagged rocks hurtling towards them meant that this attempt was largely unsuccessful. 

Restless, he wandered the corridors of the ship. He found most of the rest of the crew lurking in the dining room. Bilbo apparently wasn't the only one feeling antsy. They whiled away the hours with several games of Mah Jong (from which Bilbo made a tidy profit, as did Dwalin to everyone's surprise). They gossiped, smoked, sang songs and told tales. 

But for all their good cheer, an undercurrent of anxiety ran through proceedings. The occasional bang on the hull made everyone tense and fall silent, casting their eyes towards the bridge. Sometimes, Felix would yell an apology down to them. Sometimes not. 

One by one, everyone had their turn. Balin had done a good job of designing the rota. The older members of the crew and those of a civilian inclination were given the more socialable hours. The rest, being younger or with military backgrounds, took the night shifts, being better able to stay alert whilst also dog-tired. 

Bilbo drifted off back to his bunk after their evening meal. Sleep was illusive; insomnia being his default reaction to life-or-death situations. He regretted having acquired that snippet of self-knowledge. 

First thing the next morning, he rolled out of bed and stumbled up to the bridge, relieving Fili. With a small smile, he gave Felix's shoulder a squeeze and rolled his eyes at Bilbo on his way past. Fili looked a mess, with dark smudges under his eyes and his untidy hair swept up to a messy bun. 

"I'll bring you some coffee," he said, suppressing a yawn. 

Mumbling a thank you, Bilbo settled in his chair. If Fili looked tired, Felix looked completely exhausted, face ashen and drawn. She greeted him with a curt nod and went back to scowling at the Mists. The asteroids had drawn closer together as the field got denser, and every ounce of attention was needed.

The Mists were even more imposing from the inside. Bilbo could _really_ make out the razor sharp edges of the asteroids that swept past at quite frankly alarming distances from the _Mercator_. It didn't ease his overall concern about the situation. 

The second day was spent in much the same manner as the first. He achieved nothing of note, except the revelation that it was possible to be both bored _and_ terrified at the same time. Again, this was something he could have done without knowing. 

Day three, and at some point in the night, Felix had started on the phets. Her flying was flawless, but she'd begun to resemble a zombie from one of Kili's awful, gory films that he'd insisted on making the crew watch one evening. An extremely twitchy zombie, whose staccato wittering was punctuated by the frenetic beeping of a heart monitor that someone sensible (probably Oin) had rigged up. 

"Is it supposed to be going that fast?"

"DunnoImeanIguessnotbutatleastitmeansI'mstillaliveright?Hahaha!"

This was not reassuring to Bilbo. Not in the slightest. 

In the afternoon, Oin called time on the ridiculous situation. Sat in the dining area with the rest of the crew, Bilbo heard Thorin and Oin both forceably herding Felix into her quarters for some much needed sleep. She did not go quietly. 

Looking somewhat more ruffled than before, Thorin sat back down at the table. 

"We've latched onto one of the larger rocks we could find. It'll provide us enough shelter for now. I want all of you to get some rest. We'll press on again tomorrow morning."

"How much longer?" asked Ori.

"Apparently a day - maybe a day and a half - if the path is clear enough."

A palpable relief swept through the room. The seemly never-ending series of cracks, groans, and thumps had begun take its toll on everyone. Never mind the constant nagging worry that something would go horribly wrong in an instant. A good night's sleep under shelter would be just what they needed. 

Bilbo barely registered the short walk back to his bunk or climbing into bed, fully dressed. He was too tired to care about such minor things. Exhausted, and lulled by the sweet sound of nothing plinking off the hull of the _Mercator_ , he fell into a deep sleep. 

***************

_BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP_  

In a panic, Bilbo threw himself out of bed and onto the floor. He'd been on the _Mercator_ long enough to know that this was not one of her happier alarms. In a scramble, he went to pull on his trousers, realised he was still wearing them, grabbed the first thing to hand and sped out of the door. He was half way to the bridge when he looked down and noticed that he'd grabbed his gun. 

Feeling foolish, he tucked it into the inner pocket of his waistcoat and hoped no one would notice. A light sleeper, he was one of the first to arrive on the bridge, where Thorin, Balin, Dwalin and Felix had already gathered. They stared at one of the screens in utter silence, looking helpless and furious in turn. Amongst the static, Bilbo could make out faint shapes, but nothing recognisable. Certainly nothing that would evoke such a response. 

"What's that?" 

"A grappling hook," replied Dwalin grimly. 

"A grappling- _what?_ Orcs?"

"Nah," said Felix, shaking her head vehemently. "Orcs don't come this far into the Mists. My money's on scavengers. If we're lucky, it's the Fender Boys or the Sticklebacks. They're reasonable enough folk, might even be able to pay 'em off."

"And if we're unlucky?"

"The Goblins. It ain't just the ships they strip down and sell for parts, if you catch my meaning. "

Bilbo suppressed an involuntary shudder. "So what are we going to do now? We're stuck in this confounded asteroid field, with nowhere to go and I hardly think Commander Elrond is _anywhere_ near close enough to help us..."

"BE SILENT!" yelled Thorin. "I've had enough of your inane babbling to last me a lifetime. Either shut up, or get the fuck off this flight deck!" 

Bilbo floundered for a moment, trying to come back with some witty retort. After a couple of seconds, nothing sprang to mind and his mouth snapped shut. He skulked away, cheeks flaming, aiming for somewhere still in earshot but out of Thorin's eyeline. Garnering more than a few sympathetic looks, he ended up hiding behind Bofur, who patted him comfortingly on the shoulder. 

Dwalin peered out of the window, craning his neck to try and see what kind of ship had grabbed onto the _Mercator_. " _Tāmāde!_ " he swore. " _Womēn jiù màfanle!_ " 

"Goblins?" asked Thorin. Dwalin nodded, lips drawn into a thin line. 

"Surely we can outrun them?" said Oin. 

"They've already got  hold of the ship," Balin replied. 

"We try and rabbit out of this, we'd more'n likely tear a hole in her, then become all bloated and purple on account of the lack of breathable atmo," explained Felix. 

"They've grabbed a-hold? Already? I didn't feel a thing!" marvelled Dori. His wonder was quelled by a vicious look from Thorin. 

"So what now?" asked Kili, looking nervously from his uncle to Fili. 

"We fight," replied Thorin grimly. 

In a less than a minute, the entire crew had assembled by the cargo bay doors and dragged some crates out to form a makeshift wall. For once on the _Mercator_ , there was silence. The ship's engines were dead, and the crew didn't speak, concentrating instead on readying their weapons. 

Bilbo's fingers trembled nervously as he flicked the safety catch of his pistol down and it came to life, vibrating alarmingly. He took his place in between a scowling Ori, bow in hand and a quiver of arrows at his side, and Felix, who held a battered-looking shotgun and wore a seriously displeased expression. 

Thorin shouldered his rifle and then stalked up and down the barricade. "What ever comes through that door, shoot it. We lose this ship, we lose everything... And I don't need to tell you what they'll do to us if they catch us alive." Thorin caught sight of Bilbo and his quavering pistol and stopped dead. "Put that away, Baggins, and stay behind the rest of us."

"I'm quite a proficient shot, if you must know and I really think-"

Under Thorin's withering and furious glare, Bilbo deflated again. In that moment, more than anything, Bilbo wished he was back home and safe again. 

As Thorin took his place at the barricade once again, and Bilbo hid behind the second row of crates. A series of bangs echoed through the silent ship. Bilbo guessed - correctly - that they were at the outer doors and trying to get in. 

There was a low hissing and a clang. Distantly, one of the _Mercator's_ alarms started. 

"They've breached the outer door," murmurred Bofur, as he tightened his grip on the bayoneted rifle he cradled. 

"Not long now," added Dwalin. The hissing started again, but closer this time. Braving a peek over his crate, Bilbo saw a line of orange tracing its way across the cargo bay door, forming the shape of a rectangle. 

The lines connected and Bilbo ducked back into cover. The bang as the metal fell made him jump. There was a moment or two of silence, in which - for Bilbo, at least - time seemed to extend into an eternity. Then the spell was broken with a clatter and a panicked shout of _"GAS!"_

Then the shooting started. A voice in his head told him, with a startling clarity, that it must be the crew firing rather than the Goblins. They would probably wait for the gas to do its work rather than waste bullets. 

The cargo bay began to take on a soupy green cast which slowly thickened, and Bilbo's thoughts started to slow, as though wading through mud. The words of a poem he had learned as a child, previously long forgotten, drifted to mind. With great effort, he nodded to himself. Yes. They seemed appropriate given the circumstance. 

" _Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! An ecstasy of fumbling..._ "

A hand grabbed his shoulder and he lashed out instinctively. Nori's face loomed into view, looking ghastly in the light. Bilbo was grabbed by the scruff of his shirt and dragged to the bottom of the stairs. The normally nibble fingers scrabbled at the wall, eventually releasing a catch and pulling a panel loose. Nori shoved Bilbo inside the hole. 

"Don't let them find you!" he hissed. Nori replaced the panel and was gone. 

" _...Dim through the misty panes and thick green light..._ "

All Bilbo could see through the holes in the grating was murk and the shadowy shapes of the crew - his crew - as they fell limp under the effects of the gas. 

  _...As under a green sea, I saw him drowning._  
  _In all my dreams, before my helpless sight..._ "

Remembering Nori's instructions, Bilbo shuffled to the back of the nook, although it took all of his concentration to do so. Then he drifted off, hallucinating mildly of his comfy chair and wondering where on earth Lobelia had found knock-out gas. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chinese:
> 
> _Kêwù de lâo bàojūn_ \- Horrible old tyrant  
>  _Tāmāde_ \- Shit  
>  _Womēn jiù màfanle!_ \- We're in trouble!
> 
> Bilbo's prosy meanderings are taken from _Dulce Et Decorum Est_ by Wilfred Owen.
> 
>  
> 
> Well, shit has hit the proverbial fan. Riddles in the Dark and Brass Buttons are my favourite parts of the story, especially in Bilbo's character arc, so I'm kind of excited to Firefly-ify the next bit.
> 
> Currently in the process of moving house/doing up the new place so writing time is reduced to a minimum at the moment (hence why this chapter took so long to post), but normal service should resume within the next couple of weeks. 
> 
> Once again, thank you for reading, kudos, and commenting! Stay shiny!


	9. Seize The Night: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Seize the night, let shadows run wild in your mind_   
>  _Seize the night, do your best to lose track of time_   
>  _Seize the night, and the path won't feel so long_   
>  _Because if you know where you are when you wake up, if you know where you are when you wake up_   
>  _If you know where you are when you wake up, something's wrong_
> 
>  
> 
> Seize The Night by Will Varley
> 
>  
> 
> Small warning: we're earning the graphic descriptions of violence tag now...

When Thorin eventually came to, it was to the sound of retching. Nothing new there; plenty of morning-afters had begun the same way. He stirred, lifting his head out from under his elbow and promptly received a boot to the kidneys. 

Ah yes. Goblins. Knockout gas. They'd been pinched. He was hauled to his feet to face one of their captors; a greasy-haired thug with no apparent grasp of personal hygiene. He reeked. At Thorin's obvious recoil from the smell, the Goblin back-handed him for good measure, splitting Thorin's lip. 

He elected not to react. They'd be looking for an excuse to work themselves up into a blood lust before the real torture started. Thorin was going to make them wait for their entertainment. 

Taking stock of the crew, he saw that most of them were now awake and being dragged to their feet by other Goblins as well. No one appeared hurt for the most part, just cuts and scrapes. 

Everyone, his dear nephews included, seemed blessed with enough common sense not to start squaring up to the Goblins. Although some were instantly singled out as targets. Ori, scrawny and timid-looking, was shoved and prodded by one laughing Goblin. Out of the corner of his eye, Thorin caught the warning look Nori gave Dori. 

Thorin didn't like the leers Felix was being given either. She wore a cold expression, staring Goblins down with barely contained fury. From the few family photos she'd proudly shown them one night, he guessed that this particular look was one she'd picked up from her mother, rather than the easy smiles she shared with her father.

They were pushed along at gunpoint out of the _Mercator_ and into an expansive, empty hangar. Thorin made a concerted effort to memorise the face and clothing of the Goblin woman who had collected their weapons from them and stuffed them into a bag. He'd be loathe to admit it but the Orcrist rifle was, without shadow of doubt, the best firearm he'd ever handled in his long career. He was going to get it back, provided he wasn't murdered first. 

The crew had been together long enough that all it took was a significant look and the loose grouping of them shifted, the fighters moving to form a protective barrier around the more vulnerable, Ori and Felix in the very middle. 

It was then that Thorin noticed that their soft, bumbling software engineer was missing. 

"Where's the asset?" he hissed under his breath to Nori, who cocked an eyebrow at the phrase. 

"Stowed where it should be," Nori replied with a smirk.

Thorin knew the place. Fireflies had long been favoured by smugglers for their myriad nooks and crannies, perfect for stashing cargo that their crew didn't want the Alliance (or other smugglers) to find. But they were getting on in their years and most captains found it more economical to replace a tired, old bird with a newer model than try and keep the old one running. So all the standard hiding places were slowly being forgotten. Felix had made sure to point them out, and Thorin was suddenly gratefully for her foresight.

Provided he stayed where he'd been put, Bilbo should be safe, Thorin thought. Although the chances of him actually _staying_ there were fifty-fifty based on past experience. In any case, he was on his own. 

 

 

*************** 

 

Bilbo slowly regained consciousness, curled up in the foetal position. It was dark, it was cold, and everything smelt rather peculiar. He sat up and then promptly vomited all over his shoes. Wonderful. The memories did not come back in a flood, like when he woke up the morning after an evening with the Green Dragon, but rather he had to search for them instead. 

He waded through the mental fog, picking up dribs and drabs, until finally he had a general grasp of the situation. Asteroid field. Ambush by mercenaries-cum-black market organ traders. Some repulsive-smelling gas. He was in a hole. Nori had thrown him in. And now the crew was missing. ' _What a day'_ , he thought sardonically.

For a few minutes, he deliberated the sensibility of staying in his current hiding spot, especially given that leaving it would be in direct contravention of the order that Nori had given him about Not Being Found. However, he reasoned that if he waited long enough, the Goblins would start salvaging the ship for parts and would almost certainly find him then, rendering it a bit of a moot point. 

Unsteadily, Bilbo crawled on his hands and knees to the mesh panel that separated his hiding spot from the rest of the ship. He listened for as long as it took for him to lose track of the number of heart beats, heard nothing and then flicked the internal latch with trembling fingers. The metal hit the deck with a crash that resonated through Bilbo's bones. 

He froze and listened for any tell-tale sounds of impending discovery with a clamouring heart. There were none. Bilbo dusted off his trousers, set his resolve, took a firm grasp of his pistol, and crept towards the hole in the _Mercator's_ door.

On quiet feet, he padded out into a gigantic, open space that looked as though it could have comfortably fitted three Fireflies with room to spare. At one end, Bilbo could see a pile of machinery and a giant flat disc surrounded by claws. That must have been what had grabbed them off their asteroid. Bilbo contemplated shooting it out of annoyance, but he didn't fancy risking it. He settled for his most withering glare; one only usually reserved for Lobeila.

Out of the two open doors, one on either end, he choose the closest. If he needed to run back to safety, it would mean the least amount of time out in the open. There were boxes stacked along the sides that he thought about diving behind, but they looked too heavy for him to move on his own. Bilbo was momentarily proud of himself for that tiny piece of situational strategising, and mentally thumbed his nose at his ornery employer.

_'See'_ , he thought to Imaginary Thorin, ' _I'm not as useless as you think. Great, puffed-up, self-important bèn nǎodai guā.'_

Knowing that this particular train of thought could go on, and a great length, he forced himself to focus on the matter at hand. Which was finding the crew.

 

Bilbo wandered the rusted and dirty corridors for an interminable amount of time, expecting a Goblin to spring out of every dark corner and crevice. An occasional, distant skittering made him jump, but of another living soul, there was no sign.

Then, suddenly, out of the gloom he caught sight of a humanoid shadow in the corridor ahead. He ducked into a doorway, praying that whoever it was hadn't seen him. 

Bilbo was, as Bofur would have said, 'shit out of luck'. With a demented screech, the figure launched itself at Bilbo, knocking him to the ground. Instinctively, Bilbo threw up his arm, holding his assailant at bay. The creature bit and snapped and snarled, blowing its foetid breath into Bilbo's face. His mind was blank, but for sheer terror, until something deep inside snapped, or was forged (in the later tellings of the tale, he was never quite sure himself). He rammed the muzzle of the pistol - which he had kept in a white knuckle grip - into the stomach of the thing, closed his eyes and squeezed the trigger. Once. And then twice. 

He felt the body on top of him convulse as the laser bolts seared through, and it collapsed with a wheeze that seemed almost comical. Bilbo opened his eyes, and saw the orange glow of molten metal in a neat, round shape in the ceiling. He shoved the corpse away, and scrambled to his feet to empty his stomach in a corner. 

In a move that was, in retrospect, unwise, he turned back to examine who or what had attacked him. They were definitely human, or at least they used to be. They were dressed in rags, and what skin Bilbo could see was scarred and mutilated. Teeth, brown and rotten, had been filed down to points. Although its eyes were startlingly human; soft brown and glassed over in death. 

Bilbo turned away to retch again. The Goblins were definitely human, albeit with some highly immoral and illegal notions as to the ownership of vessels and also organs. But this - this was an  _abomination_. Orcs. Orcs in a Goblin stronghold. The implications for the crew of the _Mercator_ were _extremely_ bad. 

The good news for Bilbo was that the adrenaline seemed to have cleared the last, remaining effects of the knockout gas. The bad news was that he could now hear someone else's approach. The doorway would provide no cover and he had no time to hide the body of the dead Orc. 

His mother had always said that necessity was the mother of invention. In an inspired move, he wrenched open one of the floor grilles and slipped into the tiny space. He edged back, as close to the wall as he could, so that he was hidden in shadow.

The newcomer approached slowly, rasping and coughing their way down the corridor. Then they stopped dead. ' _That's it'_ , thought Bilbo, ' _I'm done for. They're going to raise the alarm, and start a search party, and it won't take them long at all to find me, and then all that's left of me will be a couple of spare kidneys..._ ' 

But whoever it was let out a hideous, gurgling laugh of glee that chilled Bilbo more than the prospect of being broken down for parts. 

"Yesssss," it hissed cheerfully. "We eats well tonight, precious. Yes, we does. Orcses is not the most tasty, but is best for refrigerating." 

Compelled by his own cursed curiosity, Bilbo shifted slightly to try and get a better look. It was a person, or at least a close approximation of one. As it busied and fussed over the fallen Orc, all Bilbo could discern from his hiding spot was a pallid, grey complexion, lank tendrils of hair that fell over a pair of glasses so thick they could have been made from the bottoms of jam jars, and a stained and ripped lab coat. 

Then there was an _organic_ sort of ripping noise, and it -he - held aloft an ear in triumph. And then he started to gnaw on it. Bilbo gagged silently. 

Not silently enough. He - it - the creature snapped his head towards Bilbo's direction and began to creep inquisitively towards his nook.

"What is it, precious? Is it more for eatings?"

The careless tramping of heavy boots sounded from behind a door. With a low snarl, the creature shrank back. Bilbo heard a lot of grunting and puffing, and then his retreating shuffle, somewhat more laden than before. Bilbo fervently hoped that he would never come across him - or his dinner - ever again. 

A troop of Goblins passed, as heavily tattooed as they were armed, joking cruelly about the fun they were going to have with their captives. Under normal circumstances, Bilbo would have been terrified of them, but he knew there were far worse things on this ship. Besides, he was the only one who had a hope of saving the crew.

Once the coast was clear, he shifted the grate, hopped out of his refuge and started down the corridor. Coming to a T-junction, he chose the opposite direction to where all three unpleasant things he'd encountered had come from. 

He wended his way round the warren, keeping to the shadows and corners as best he could, simultaneously listening for enemies and formulating an escape plan. 

As it stood, the crew had been captured. From the Goblin's overheard conversation, the 'fun' hadn't started yet, so Bilbo was going to assume the crew were still hale and whole for the moment. But that was liable to change with every minute wasted. He had no hope of back up and there was not a hope in the Verse of him rescuing them alone with brute force. Bilbo elected to ignore the Orc issue for now. He would burn that bridge if and when he came to it. 

His best, and only, course of action was to play to his strengths. Specifically computers. He needed to find a terminal, any terminal. Whatever type of ship this was, it was, technologically-speaking, basically a potato. Bilbo was fairly confident he could crack their security and access a schematic. Perhaps set off an alert in a different part of the ship, draw the majority of the Goblins away from the crew...It was half a plan. But it was more of a plan than he'd had ten minutes previous.

After a little purposeful sneaking, Bilbo eventually found his way into the best possible place: the ship's server room. Fighting the urge to fist pump, he did a quick sweep of the room (checking his corners, just like Fili and Kili had told him) and found it empty. With a quick peek out into the corridor to check the coast was clear, Bilbo slid the door close and leaned against it. He allowed himself a couple of moments for a breather, then got to work. 

Infiltrating the Goblins' security was easier than he'd expected. Much easier. It didn't take him long until he'd found a full schematic and deduced the most likely location for the crew (Hangar Bay 2, on the opposite end of the ship to the _Mercator_ ). He looked up from his work, pondering on what his next move should be, when a flash of something shiny caught his eye. 

A small disc of gold, no bigger than his littlest fingernail, sat in a glass case on one of the shelves in the corner of the room. Bilbo initially thought it was an old coin, an artifact from Earth-That-Was, but on closer inspection it appeared to be some form of chip or computer part, judging by the ridges on its surface and gossamer-thin wires that stuck out of it.

He couldn't make out what it was for though. Dissatisfied, he unfastened the case and picked the confounded thing up, turning it over and over between his fingers. It gave up none of its secrets. Bilbo lay it flat on his palm, considering whether or not it was a mathom or just a piece of junk that the owner had found pretty enough to keep.

All of a sudden, the wires flicked out like tendrils and buried themselves deep in Bilbo's palm. He gasped in shock and pain and tried to pull it out, but the wires only sunk in deeper. He could _feel_ them wrapping round his bones and tightening, pulling the disc further and further into his skin. It was crushing agony and he screamed from behind the fist he had stuffed into his mouth to muffle the sound. And just when he thought he could endure no more, Bilbo slipped into unconsciousness for the second time that day. 

And somewhere in the empty vastness of the galaxy , a mind-boggling distance away from the Goblin ship and the unconscious Bilbo, something stirred. On the control panel of an old satellite, a small red light, like an eye in the dark, that had glowed dimly in the black for years too numerous to count, brightened. Other lights, oranges and yellows and a sickly green, flickered to life. Gears whirred - making, of course, no noise in the vacuum of space - and the long-forgotten satellite fired its thrusters in four short bursts, angling itself to point in a new direction. Then it fell still, as if it had never moved at all. The small red light, however, glowed steadily on. 

 

 

**************

 

The sensation of coming round after having recently passed out was becoming a disappointingly familiar one to Bilbo. Jittery from pain and adrenaline, he forced himself to remain lying on the floor, and give his frazzled brain a chance to reboot and take stock of any new injuries. Besides, he rather fancied _not_ throwing up again. 

Aside from a ding on the head and his throbbing hand, he felt fine and chanced sitting up. Ah yes. His hand. Steeling himself, he chanced a look at the damage. Prepared for a gruesome, mangled mess, he was pleasantly surprised to find that his hand was largely intact, aside from a small round wound that looked as though it could have been made with the end of a cigarette, rather than a homicidal computer chip. 

He brought his hand up towards his face to take a closer look, caught a flash of gold amongst the gore and his stomach roiled. Bilbo tore a strip from the bottom of his shirt and wound it round his hand, binding the wound and hiding it from sight. 

With substantial mental effort, he buried questions like 'What the hell was that?', 'What the hell is it for?'and 'How the hell do I get it out again?', and focused on the matter at hand.  

Which was currently the sound of a shuffling footfall approaching. It rang a bell and Bilbo, taking a quick scan of the empty food packets and mouldy coffee mugs, deduced that he had found the lair of the cannibalistic lab technician. 

He uttered a stream of colourful Chinese which seemed appropriate in the circumstance. There was no other door bar the one he had entered through, and certainly no escape through that. With remarkable presence of mind, he stuffed the now-empty glass case of his cybernetic freeloader into an empty cupboard and wedged himself into the more person-sized one next to it. 

It was a tight squeeze in the dusty space, and Bilbo began a close inspection of his knees as he listened to the lunatic make his way around the room, babbling happily to himself.  Bilbo hoped that this...individual wasn't about to become absorbed in whatever work it was he did round here. Otherwise he could be stuck for _hours_. 

Whatever wandering star Bilbo had been born under dimmed suddenly and his luck faltered; he sneezed. 

Three agonising seconds of silence and Bilbo was blinded by the door to his hidey hole being flung open. 

"What's this, precious?" screeched the voice with cruel delight. 

Clammy hands reached for Bilbo, and he brought his own up in reflex and remembered his pistol. He brandished it determinedly. 

"Stay back! I'm warning you! I will use this, if I have to!"

The revolting man recoiled, raising his hands in a placatory gesture. "Not so hasty, precious. Not so hasty. We only wants to helps, yesss." 

He stepped back, allowing Bilbo room to unfold himself out of the cupboard. The man was an even less edifying sight up close. And he stank. Bilbo wiggled his nose in distaste and the man smiled, revealing all of two yellowed teeth.

"What do you mean 'helps'...'help'?" he corrected, trying not to think about where the flecks of blood on the man's collar had come from.

"We knows they gots your friendses. The Goblins, yesss. Stupid, nasty Goblins. They calls us Gollum and always they beats us when they finds us out of our rooms. But we knows how to fixes and how to unfixes, and we remembers." A dark shadow passed over the man's face as he spoke, and Bilbo was fairly sure the man wasn't just talking about computers.

Bilbo cleared his throat. "You were talking about 'helping'?"

"Yes, we was, wasn't we? We can helps it sneak through the system. We knows how to turns the zeroes into ones and the ones into zeroes."

"Look," said Bilbo, becoming increasingly exasperated and terrified in equal measure, "I'm not in the mood for riddles or playing games. Will you help me or not?"

"Games?!" shrieked Gollum and his eyes lit up with maniac glee. "We likes games! How's abouts this, precious, how's abouts this: we plays a game with these," Gollum produced a pair of dice from his pocket, "It knows Odds and Evens... _Chō-han,_  yes?" Bilbo nodded and Gollum clapped happily.

It was a simple game he'd played with ailing relatives as a child: the total of the dice would either be ' _chō_  ' - 'even' or ' _han' -_ 'odd'. All the players had to do was guess correctly. He remembered it getting quite competitive when playing with his Great Aunt Mildred. They both _hated_   losing. As games went,  _Chō-han_  required little skill, only luck; but it was something Bilbo felt he had in short supply at present.   

"If it wins, we helps it sneak. And if it loses, we eats it whole."

Bilbo considered this proposal for a moment. It seemed...weighted. Heavily. And not in his favour. But he was conscious that his crew were in danger and every _second_  mattered. 

"Fair enough," he replied. And a thought occurred to him. Speaking of 'weighted'...

"Hang on just a minute," he said and he snatched the dice from Gollum's out-stretched hand and examined them. They were crudely hand-carved out of some kind of off-white plastic. He threw them a few times, and satisfied that they landed seemingly randomly, he gave them back. The crew, chiefly Nori, Bofur and Kili would have been proud, and that cheered Bilbo momentarily. 

"It doesn't needs to worry. We makes them ourselves. Out of Goblins' bones. After we eats them." Gollum grinned and Bilbo nodded mildly. _Not_  plastic then. 

"We rolls the dices, it chooses first," pronounced Gollum. 

"Fine. But then we swap over. And it'll be best out of five, if you don't mind. And stop calling me 'it'. It's Baggins to you."

"As the Bagginses wishes." 

It was close enough. 

Gollum tipped the dice into a metal cup and shook them vigorously. The clacking of the bone against metal set Bilbo's teeth on edge. Gollum slammed down the cup and looked at Bilbo expectantly. 

He did the maths quickly in his head. On the balance of probabilities, the most likely number for any roll of two six-sided die was seven, so the best way for him to play this was to choose odds as often as he could. Gollum would more than likely pick the opposite to what Bilbo did. It was human nature. 

" _Han_ ," said Bilbo. 

" _Han_ ," added Gollum. 

Bugger. Perhaps trying to predict Gollum's actions using 'human nature' was a mistake. Especially given where his last meal had come from. 

Gollum lifted the cup. "Three and two makes five. FIVESES? Curse us and splash us, precious!" He tugged at his greasy hair in desperation.  

"But- but you were right? Five  _is_ odd."

"Yess, precious. But the Baggins was also right," Gollum snarled back. Ah. 

"Yes. Well...let's keep playing, shall we?"

Bilbo took the cup from Gollum's pale hands and gingerly tipped the dice into the cup. Shaking it with much less vigour than his opponent, he tapped it down onto the table. 

"Call it."

" _Han_ ," said Gollum.

Bilbo took a punt. " _Chō_."

Overturning the cup, he saw two threes and fought back a smile. Gollum threw himself down and beat his fists on the table top. Bit of an overreaction, Bilbo thought. Still, he was two for two and feeling hopeful that his luck would hold out. 

It didn't. He'd lost two in quick succession, leaving the last roll as the decider. Sick to his stomach, Bilbo watched Gollum tumble the dice in the cup and tip them onto the table. 

With a sinister smile, Gollum gestured for Bilbo to make his choice. " _Han_ ," he said, knowing instantly that it was the wrong one. 

" _Chō_ ," said Gollum and Bilbo's last chance slipped away. Had Gollum chosen the same, Bilbo might've been able to persuade him to a tie-breaker before he commenced gnawing on Bilbo's intestines.

Tortuously slowly, Gollum edged the lip of the cup up, prolonging the excruciating moment as his enjoyed the desperate look on Bilbo's face. His eyes slid past and fixed on a point behind Bilbo's head. 

" _WHERE IS IT?_ " wailed Gollum, stumbling across the room. " _THOSE FILTHY GOBLINS HAVE TAKENS THE PRECIOUS. WE BURNS THEM TO ASHES FOR THIS._ "

Bilbo risked a look in Gollum's direction and saw exactly which shelf Gollum was staring at with such fury and despair. He added two and two, came up with the appropriate number, and decided he needed an exit strategy. Fast. 

With Gollum preoccupied, Bilbo saw his chance and took it. A deft flicker of the fingers and a four miraculously turned into a five. He snatched his hand away a second before Gollum turned back. 

Normally, Bilbo abhorred cheating; a lesson absorbed from the staid Bungo Baggins. 'Cheaters only ever cheat themselves', he had said when, as a child, Bilbo had been caught hacking into the answers for an upcoming test (which had only been because he didn't want Prim to have to take a different class). The adage had stayed with him. The crew had found it hilarious and endearing in equal measure. But even old Bungo couldn't fault him of this; the circumstances were extenuating in the extreme. 

"What did they take?" Bilbo asked with feigned interest. 

"Not its business," spat back Gollum. 

Bilbo elected not to correct him. "Well, we still have a game to finish." He wriggled his nose officiously and gestured for Gollum to overturn the cup, which he did, revealing a two and a five. "Seven," said Bilbo happily. "My lucky number. Now, show me how to get out of here."

It had taken Gollum  _a lot_  longer than Bilbo had expected, and certainly less time than Bilbo had hoped, but eventually he reached entirely the _correct_ conclusion. 

"Unless  _it_ stole it from us," hissed Gollum, low and dangerous. He took one glance at Bilbo's bandaged hand and snarled. " _Thief!_ "

Quailing at Gollum's sudden ferocity, Bilbo took a couple of steps back, and Gollum, thinking he was about to escape, launched himself bodily towards Bilbo. Bilbo grabbed the nearest dispensable thing to hand - which was, once again, a chair - and threw it overarm in Gollum's path. 

In a tangle of legs, Gollum and the chair crashed to the floor. Bilbo did not hang around, and sprinted out of the room as fast as his own could carry him. 

 

***************

 

The crew were harried along the corridors of the Goblins' ship. The strike had happened so fast that none of them'd had any time to clock the make of vessel they were in, let alone try and work out where they were within it.

Small clusters of Goblins kept appearing from rooms and corridors off the main passage, throwing stray punches as the crew passed. More and more joined the throng, eager to see the spectacle that would be made of the prisoners.

Eventually, they were ushered into another hangar bay, much like the one the _Mercator_ had been dragged into. In the centre, upon a throne made from what appeared to be human bones, was the most disgusting individual Thorin had ever had the displeasure of setting his eyes upon. Warty, rotund, dressed in a dirty and patched set of top and tails with a crown of molars upon his head, sat the one people called the Goblin King. Goblin mercenaries loitered in the shadows of the room or up on the gantry ways, and behind the macabre chair, Thorin could see rusted, evil-looking contraptions. He had no doubt what they were for. 

Next to him, Thorin saw Kili blanch. Imitating Kili's childhood habit, Thorin reached over and tugged his little finger twice and Kili squeezed back. Thorin tilted his chin up and set his jaw, trying to express what he couldn't say. Nodding once, Kili mirrored his uncle's defiant expression. 

Thorin looked to his other nephew. One of the Goblins had just tried to reach into the vulnerable heart of the group and Fili had stepped in his way and barred his teeth. At such a display of ferocity, the Goblin had backed down with a sneer. The lad was more like his mother than he knew. 

They were brought to a halt before the throne and the man upon it leaned forward, examining the crew whilst tapping his long, dirty fingernails on the top of a human skull. The sound grated.

And he didn't miss the look that Dwalin gave Bofur, Gloin and Balin. Nor the way that they subtly shifted, leaving Thorin peering over Dwalin's shoulder. Objectively, he understood. He was the most recognisable; years of trying to get your cause on the vids tended to have that effect. It still irked him though and he settled for jabbing Dwalin in the ribs with his finger. His tiny flinch eased Thorin's wounded pride. 

"What do we have here?" drawled the Goblin King.  

"Smugglers, your 'ighness," replied the Goblin with the guns. "Found 'em latched onto one o'them big asteroids."

"What are you smuggling, pray tell? Food? Weapons? Drugs?"

"No cargo," replied Bofur. "None but empty begging bowls, at least. We're on our way t'Emnet cluster, heard there's a couple o'jobs going tha'end o'space. We were supposed t'be there...oh...last Thursday? But the ruttin' Alliance wouldn't give us the necessary travel permits, which accounts for us travellin' _this_ end o'the Verse.  The whole thing's been a shambles, from start t'finish. It really has. And d'ye know-"

" _SILENCE!_ " the Goblin King yelled. Thorin fought a smirk. When it came to talking circles round people, Ori, Kili, and Balin were good. They were very good. But Bofur was a _master_.  

"My men are searching the ship as we speak," the Goblin King continued. "We'll soon find whatever it is you're hiding."

His crew glared back obstinately. 

"We already told you," said Oin, "we've not got any cargo!"

The Goblin King slammed his meaty fist down onto the top of the skull, shattering it with a resounding crack. " _LIES!_   Do you think I'm an idiot? You filthy rock-dwellers are hiding something! And if you won't tell me what it is by _choice,_ then we're perfectly happy to take it _by force,"_ he threatened, mouth curling up into a malevolent grin. 

"Bring out the Bone Breaker!" the Goblin King shouted, gesturing wildly. His minions scurried gleefully away to drag out the horrific machines behind the throne. "Bring out the Smasher and the Crusher! We'll have some fun tonight, lads! We'll start with...YOU _!"_  He pointed squarely at Ori, who made a frightened squeak, lost amongst the jeering and calls of the sadistic crowd. 

Goblins lunged into the group to grab Ori, ignoring his struggles. Dori reached for his brother but took several sharp jabs to the head and sagged to his knees, spitting blood and teeth. Knives and guns were thrust warningly at the crew making it _abundantly_ clear that the next person who tried anything would end up dead.

A tiny voice in Thorin's mind - the reckless one, the one that frequently danced the boundary between bravery and stupidity, the one that Dis and Frerin had always told him to ' _please ignore, for the love of Mahal',_  and the one that these days was beginning to sound disconcertingly more and more like Kili - spoke up. It said, ' _Oh, **hell** no.'_

_"WAIT!"_   Thorin bawled and shouldered his way past Dwalin to stand in between the Goblin King and his crew. In the pin-drop silence that followed, he heard Balin's tiny sigh of resignation.

"Well well well," said the Goblin King with relish. "I know _your_ face. Thorin Oakenshield, Lord of Erebor. Although I suppose all you're lord of _now_  is a pile of ash and bones," he taunted. 

Thorin ground his teeth together. He'd heard worse, but it was still an effort to not react and keep his face devoid of expression. 

"An old friend of your's been asking after you," the Goblin continued. "He'd like to pay you back for that grenade..."

Thorin's composure shattered. It wasn't - it _couldn't_  - be possible. He'd seen the crater and the mass of mangled body parts. Hell, the shrapnel had almost killed him, nearly slicing through his carotid like butter, and he'd been metres away. The grenade had landed at Azog's  _feet_. There'd been nothing left, nothing identifiable at least, and he'd just assumed... they'd all just assumed. He looked to Balin, lost. Balin could only twist his mouth sadly. 

"Wave the Orcs. Let Azog know we have his prize," the Goblin King ordered one of the men groveling near his feet, who barged his way through the throng. "I don't think he'll mind if we have some fun with our guests first. As long as the lost little Lord is kept mostly intact." The Goblins laughed and hooted. "The rest will make lovely trophies." The cheers got louder. 

Thorin's mind retreated in on itself; news of Azog's survival dredged up the nightmarish memories he tried to keep buried and the only way to cope - the only way to _not_ get lost in the acrid stench of carrion and phosphorous, the only way to _not_  relive watching his grandfather be torn apart as he watched helpless from above, or the discovery in the days after the battle of Frerin's corpse, flayed from the head down - was to shut down. Go blank. Lose himself in the blackness.

Deaf and blind to all around him, Thorin didn't notice the Goblin with the guns starting to root through his spoils whilst the others whipped themselves up into a blood frenzy.

He didn't hear the revolted shriek as the Goblin pulled out the Orcrist rifle and threw it to the ground. 

He didn't hear the Goblin King's raving about them being Alliance spies. 

He didn't hear the order being given to kill them all and that Azog could make do with only Thorin's head.

The punch to the gut though. _That_  he did notice. And it pulled him back, gasping and doubled over, to the here and now. The crew were fighting off Goblins with fists, feet, even tooth and nail, trying to reach him. Thorin lashed out at any who dared get near him, but there were too many and their sheer force of numbers overwhelmed him and dragged him to the ground. A stamp to his ribcage sent an unpleasant crack reverberating through his chest. He was held down, unable to catch his breath, whilst a Goblin leaned over his head and lined up a serrated machete with his neck.

Thorin thought he'd forsaken Mahal long ago, but in that last moment before his anticipated death he closed his eyes and sent a wordless prayer anyway. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chinese:  
>  _Bèn nǎodai guā_ \- Stupid melon head
> 
> Japanese:  
>  _Chō-han_ \- lit. Even-Odd. Japanese dice gambling game.
> 
>  
> 
> In which Bilbo is a dab hand with a chair again and I break Thorin. : /


	10. Seize The Night: Part Two

A searing white light blazed across his eyelids and Thorin thought for a moment that if that was him dying, it was as painless as could have been hoped for.

" _GET UP! ARM YOURSELVES!_ " shouted a voice. The familiarity of it made Thorin inhale sharply and his chest flared with pain. Nope. Definitely not dead. Blinking against the afterglow, he peered round at the source and saw Gandalf rising from his knees as the top of his walking stick clicked back into place. The Goblins, to a man, had all been laid flat out on their arses, dazed and half-blinded. ' _That fucking stick_ ', Thorin cursed to himself, half in awe, half in envy.

"To arms!" Gandalf shouted again.

Broken ribs grinding together unpleasantly, Thorin shoved the stunned Goblins away from himself and jumped to his feet. The Orcrist had fallen a few feet from where he'd almost lost his head. Thorin snatched it up and promptly fired a round into the head of Serrated Knife Goblin and a couple into the fucker that had broken his ribs. Didn't make them hurt any less, but he felt a whole lot better after doing it.

Dwalin had been keeping an eye on their weapons, succeeding where Thorin had failed. He gathered them up from the prone Goblin quickly, tossing them over to their owners.

"You took your time," Thorin said to Gandalf as the old man knocked a stirring Goblin over the head with his stick.

"I was unavoidably detained," he replied smugly. Thorin opened his mouth to ask more, but Gandalf raised his hand, silencing him. "Later. The effects of the shock wave will not last much longer. Everybody, follow me! Run now!"

Gandalf set off at a rapid jog out of a side door that Thorin hadn't spotted before, the crew following behind, eager to escape. Thorin caught Nori booting a Goblin in the face and at his arched eyebrow, Nori shrugged unapologetically.

"If I can't kick 'im whilst he's down, when am I supposed to?" he said on the way past. Thorin just shoved him gently and fell in behind Balin.

Gandalf led them through the bowels of the ship, following his own internal compass. With no idea where they were and no landmarks amongst the uniformly revolting corridors, Thorin just had to trust that he knew the way back to the _Mercator_. They jogged in relative silence for a while, until the sound of hundreds of booted feet running across the ship's deck could be heard over their own breathing. It was getting louder.

"They know where we are," Dwalin hissed over his shoulder to Thorin, bringing them to a halt.

"Gandalf, how much further is the _Mercator_?" he called out breathlessly. Fili shot him a concerned glance and Thorin waved him away. His ribs could wait.

"A few more minutes yet."

"We don't have a few more minutes," Dori fired back. "They're almost on top of us!"

Bifur tugged Bofur's arm and signed something hurriedly. "Bif says he thinks he can shut that fire door over there." He gestured over Gandalf's head. Bifur signed something emphatically. "Permanently, he says. Should give us more time..."

"Whatever you can do," replied Thorin.

Shooing them all through the doorway, Bifur slid the steel across halfway. At that moment, their pursuers rounded a corner and began firing. Those who could ducked behind the door for cover, whilst Thorin, Kili, and Bofur aimed their rifles down the corridor and made a vain attempt at suppressing fire. There were too many though, and when one went down another took their place. The Goblin King stood in their midst, taking potshots with a laser pistol.

Thorin felt a gentle tap at his ankles as Gandalf motioned him aside with his stick. In one practiced movement, Gandalf shouldered Glamdring, aimed, and then fired. All Thorin saw was a flicker of blue and the Goblin King sinking down amongst the rest. Gandalf nodded in satisfaction.

Meanwhile, exhibiting an astonishing lack of urgency, Bifur had bent and been rolling the cuffs of his trousers down. He pulled out a long strip of shiny black plastic, peeled a cover off one side with his teeth and stuck it to the side of the door. Then, he reached around and calmly pulled off another strip and the plastic began to glow red. Bifur slammed the door shut with a clang, and a few seconds later a bright light flared through the crack. A few seconds after  _that,_ there were a series of loud bangs on the other side of the door. The handle wriggled violently, but the door remained closed. Bifur had strip-welded it shut.

"Ha!" barked out Gloin. "That'll take those rutting psychopaths _hours_ to get open! Nice one, Bif!" Gloin flashed him a thumbs up and Bifur grinned in response.

"Don't encourage him," chided Bombur. "It's a dangerous place to keep things like that and he knows it."

Bifur signed something back and Thorin had picked up just enough to know it had been fairly rude. He gave him an approving nod nonetheless and Bifur's grin got wider.

"No time to lose," said Gandalf. "We must keep moving!"

So on they ran. Just when Thorin thought that he that one more step would have him on the ground gasping like a landed fish, Gandalf stopped them at a closed door and punched in a code. It opened, revealing a blessedly empty hangar and the _Mercator._ Thorin breathed a sigh of relief which he instantly regretted. Felix wandered past in a shocked daze, and he heard her tiny whimper of " _Poor baby._ " The ship was battered, dented and scuffed. But she was mostly whole. Whether or not she would actually _start_ was another thing entirely.

 

***************

 

Bilbo ran down the warren of corridors, the sounds of pursuit ever in his ears. Pausing to catch his breath, he ducked into a doorway, panting heavily. He had absolutely no idea where the hell he was, or where the _Mercator_ was. He'd jinked and doubled back on himself so much that he'd lost all concept of direction.

A scuttling down the corridor distracted him from his despairing and he pulled himself tighter into the nook he'd take refuge in. Shifting to get further into the shadow, Bilbo unthinkingly placed his injured hand over the door's command console. With a shift that made his stomach lurch, he found himself seeing double.

As though a filter had been placed over the world, Bilbo saw thrumming lines of neon blue, striping through the walls, clustered into bright masses here and there. Pulses of ultraviolet, almost blindingly bright, zipped past, following unseen lines like geometric fireflies. But most curious of all, were the humanoid blobs in varying shades of acid green and orange that shuffled around, some near, some distant, some in ones and twos, and a particularly large cluster somewhere below his feet.

Bilbo knew _exactly_ what it was he was seeing. He knew exactly _wh_ y he was seeing it. And he did not like it. Not one bit.

Movement caught his eye. A sickly luminous green blob with a gait that Bilbo was becoming depressingly familiar with was heading his way. Bilbo only had to think _'I wonder if...'_   and a heavy fire door dropped closed, barring Gollum's path. He could hear the frustrated shriek from the other side of it.

Ok. So perhaps it wasn't all _that_ bad.

It only took the speed of a thought and another set of doors opened, this time in the opposite direction to where Bilbo was heading. Gollum, desperate, took the bait and shot off.

That was one problem down. The fifteen orange blobs running away from a whole mass of green ones was another one entirely. An alarm sounded noisily and Bilbo rolled his eyes with exasperation. He tried blocking the hunters from their quarry by shutting one of the doors in between, but that didn't work.

An exploration of the scope and limitations of his new...gift beckoned. The _whys_ and _what ifs_ and _I wonder if I can do..._ begged to be investigated. But now was _really_ not the time. Bilbo settled for trying to remember a route that would cross paths with the crews'.

He removed his hand from the console and the world blurred back to its normal, dirty state. That was his first discovery: it worked by touched. It would have to do for the time being. He ran.

With his pounding feet and thumping heart, he almost didn't hear the sounds of distant running. Reasoning that it was more than likely to be the crew, he followed it.

As Bilbo rounded the corner, his heart simultaneously soared and sank. The passage was one of many that branched off the main arteries of what he now, inexplicably, knew to be a Mountain Class Salvage Vessel, Serial Number J451297B, named _Caradhras_.

At the end of this passage, not thirty feet away, he could see the main route to the hangar bay. But Gollum was cannier than Bilbo had given him credit for, and was hiding behind a crate just at the mouth of the passageway, keeping watch. For him.

" _Tai kong sōu you di xing qui dōu sai jin wo de pigu_ ," Bilbo cursed as he flung himself back against the wall.

Gollum'd had his back to Bilbo, so he didn't _think_ he'd been seen. He took a peek. Nope, Gollum was still there and Bilbo blew out a breath of relief.

He could make out individual voices and shouts now amongst the clamour. The crew - _his_ crew - and Gandalf amongst them, dashed past.

There was no other way he could see to escape. He steeled himself. It had to be done. Through the tremor in his fingers, Bilbo flipped the safety catch on his pistol down and it came alive in his hand. He drew in a breath to steady his nerves. There was no other way.

Creeping out from behind cover, he raised the pistol and sighted down the barrel at Gollum's unsuspecting and exposed back. All he had to do was squeeze the trigger and he could escape.

Gollum's wouldn't be the first life Bilbo had taken; that inglorious honour went to the Orc earlier. And Bilbo had a feeling that it wouldn't be the last before his journey was done. But he couldn't bring himself to shoot. If he did, Gollum would die and a small, innocent piece of Bilbo would go with him.

He pressed a button on the side of the pistol and its hum receded. He flipped it over in his hand, before rushing Gollum as quickly and as quietly as he could.

Gollum half-turned at the sound, eyes widening in recognition before the butt of the pistol connected with the side of his head and he slumped to the ground, unconscious.

Bilbo was not so pure a person that he didn't feel some measure of satisfaction knowing that the repulsive creature was going to wake up with the worst headache in the Verse, and one that would last for several days at that.

There were no pursuers behind the crew, which seemed odd, but Bilbo gave it no thought other than relief, and trotted towards the hangar. He could hear the crew arguing and he fought back a smile.

"Come on, Ori," growled Dwalin impatiently. "Work faster!"

"I'm trying! I'm sorry, Thorin. I can't do it. They've wired the console wrong. It'll take hours to fix, and that's even with the proper-"

"Give it to me in simple terms, Ori."

"The hangar doors are on a manual locking system. Can't be bypassed, or set to automated. They have to be opened, manually, from inside the corridor. One of us -"

"Would have to stay behind," finished Thorin. Bilbo hung back, searching frantically for a solution. "Ok. That's obviously not acceptable. Other options."

"Grenades?" offered Gloin. "Blow a hole in the doors."

"Absolutely not. We risk damaging the ship."

" _Damaging?!_ " yelped Felix. " _Wô de mā_ , Thorin! We're a bit beyond that now, don't ya think! Look at her! Look what they've done!" She sounded like she was about to cry.

"Bofur, Bifur, go with Felix. Get us to limping, that's all we need. Any sign?" Thorin called out.

Bilbo heard several sets of feet running over. "He's not there, Uncle," said Kili breathlessly. "We've searched her from top to bottom."

"Where is Bilbo?" asked Gandalf dangerously.

"The Goblins must have found him," replied Dwalin. "Poor bastard."

"Then we must go and get him _back_."

"We cannot, Gandalf. There's a hundred Goblins after us, and about as many places they could have imprisoned him on this accursed ship. If the fool was stupid enough to get snatched we leave him behind."

Loath to miss the best cue he would ever get in his life (and the chance to knock Thorin's overly large nose out of joint), Bilbo stepped out from behind cover and cleared his throat.

"Hmm. I'm right here actually."

The crew, milling around the _Mercator_ 's main door, stopped what they were doing and stared. They looked terrible. Most, if not all, were bleeding from some injury or another. The side of Dori's face had puffed up to half its size again, and Thorin was holding himself all wrong. Bilbo supposed he didn't look much better.

"Bilbo Baggins! I've never been so glad to see anyone in all my life!" exclaimed Gandalf.

"How did you get past the Goblins?" asked Fili. "They've all but ransacked the ship. We thought for certain they'd found you!"

"I have ways and means, my lad. Ways and means." Bilbo waggled his finger mischievously in the astonished Fili's direction.

"Why didn't you stay where Nori hid you?" demanded Thorin. "They wouldn't have found you there. You would have been safe."

"I was looking for you!" Bilbo shot back. "I know I'm not a soldier or a mercenary, or whatever the _hell_ Fili and Kili seem to think they are-" The boys grinned. "But I woke up, and you were gone, all of you. Who would I be if I cowered in a corner and left you to get...  _eviscerated_?! I had to try _something_."

The crew were uncharacteristically silent and it made Bilbo feel intensely uncomfortable. "You're my crew," he finished lamely, trying to fill the silence.

He was rewarded by a small, yet proud smile from Thorin that made Bilbo feel somewhat fuzzy. He shook his head, theorising that it was more than likely a combination of being overwrought, tired, and having passed out a handful of times within the last twenty four hours. Had to be.

A small radio on Kili's belt crackled, pulling Bilbo's attention back to their present predicament. << _Cap'n? >>_

Kili passed the radio over to Thorin and he replied, "Go ahead, Felix."

<< _It's not looking great up here, Cap'n. There're wires and goushî all over the place... >>_

"Did you run a diagnostics yet?"

<< _< <Yep. Primary life support is down. Ancillary life support is running, but that only got a forty-eight hour span. Grav systems are green. Door control is down. Not that it matters much, on account of the gorram hole in the main door. Thrusters are green for take off, but Bifur says the engine's doing something that he don't like.>>_

"So, in summary?"

_< <We can take off no problem, but we'll either explode or asphyxiate shortly after.>>_

Thorin tapped the radio against his chin in thought, then said, "Can we get a seal on the internal doors?"

_< < Err...Yep, that we can do.>>_

"Good to know. Put me on an open channel."

_< <Yes, sir...Done.>>_

"Here's the plan" said Thorin, his voice echoing eerily throughout the ship. "Gloin, Dwalin, and Fili, I want you three to rig a grenade cluster onto the hangar doors to remote detonate. Make as big of a boom as you can, we need enough space to fly through. "

The three men shared a grin.

"Bifur, Bofur, stabilise the engine. Felix, prep for launch. The rest of you, come with me. Everything that you don't want floating around out in the black needs to be strapped down or locked up. Anything that you can't live without on the lower decks, move it up to the dining area. The plan is to seal below decks, get airborne, blow the doors and then run. Understood?"

A chorus of 'ayes' was the reply and the crew lept into action. Bilbo scurried off with Ori to secure their research. He wasn't overly hopeful, given the state of the rest of the ship as he took the stairs two at a time; the Goblins had ransacked almost every crate in the cargo bay.

He was pleasantly surprised to find that, although it was a mess, with papers strewn around like confetti, nothing appeared to be missing. Most importantly of all, their computers had remained undamaged. Whoever had searched the skiff had no idea what they were looking at.

Bilbo clasped Ori's shoulder with relief as they retrieved laptops and notebooks, and then locked the shuttle door. He even allowed himself a proper grin; the first in perhaps days? Definitely hours.

Felix's voice, tremulous and panicky came over the ship's tannoy system, _< <Err, Cap'n?>>_

"Yes?" replied Thorin on his handheld.

_< <We have incoming. Looks like our fans want an encore.>>_

Bilbo leaned over the walkway railing, peering down at Thorin's face, looking for either reassurance or confirmation of the worst; he wasn't sure which. Even from thirty feet above, Bilbo could see his lips pull into a tight line and his eyebrows draw into his trademark scowl.

"Get these boxes back into barricades _NOW_ ," he barked at the crew around him. Bilbo ran to help, almost tumbling down the stairs as he did. "Fili, did you catch that?"

_< <Aye, we got it,>>_ replied Dwalin.  _< <But we're still settin' the charges. Another thirty seconds and we're done.>>_

Movement caught Bilbo's eye. "Thorin, they don't have thirty seconds! Look!" he hissed, as Orcs and Goblins began to pour into the hangar bay.

Several shots whizzed over their heads and Thorin bodily hauled Bilbo over the makeshift barricade. The crew immediately returned fire. The cargo bay filled with noise and the acrid smell of hot metal and all Bilbo could do was to curl up and make himself as small a target as possible.

A wordless cry of pain that twisted Bilbo's gut blared out over the open channel.

" _FILI!_ " Kili tried to vault over the top of the boxes, intent only on his brother. Balin grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and dragged him down, a bullet grazing his arm as he did so.

Bilbo heard Dwalin's enraged shouts, more cracks of gunfire, and then a muffled groan.

Thorin ducked down behind the boxes and shouting frantically into his comms. "Fili? Dwalin? Gloin, do you copy?"

There was only static. _< <Gloin 'ere,>>_ was the eventual reply.  _< <We're alive. Dwalin took 'un t'the shoulder, 'an Fili's been tagged in the stomach. We're pinned down.>>_

All went quiet on the outside the ship, allowing Bilbo to hear the small " _shit_ " that Thorin muttered under his breath. It summarised things quite nicely, Bilbo thought.

_"EKENSKALL!"_ a voice called out, almost tauntingly.

Bilbo watched the blood drain from Thorin's face, and his ice-blue eyes turn pitch with horror. " _No_ ," he whispered and his voice sounded very small in the silence.

"What? Who is it?" Bilbo asked. When Thorin would not reply, Bilbo turned to Gandalf. "Who's out there?"

"Azog the Defiler," answered Gandalf, spitting the name with uncharacteristic venom.

"But I thought..." Bilbo mimed an explosion with his hands.

"Not quite as terminal as we'd hoped."

"Ekenskall!" repeated Azog, his accent making the words sound harsh and strange. "Come out of that hole you're cowering in!"

Thorin did not reply and looked, to Bilbo at least, as though the lights were on but Thorin's mind had vacated the building.

"Come out, or I will do to your sister-son what you tried to do me! Or maybe I will give him the same treatment as your brother..."

Bilbo raised his head a fraction, enough to see over the top of the barricades. It was not good. It seemed to Bilbo like there were hundreds of Goblins out there (although in reality, there were no more than fifty or so). There were Orcs too, standing shoulders above the rest. They were huge, bodies warped and twisted by muscle and bone and steel.

Even amongst them, Azog was distinctive. Pale as snow and taller by a head than his Orc brethren, he was - if it were possible - more horrific than any phantom Bilbo's imagination had conjured. Half his body was simply ligament, bone, and gnarled scar tissue, Thorin's grenade having stripped the rest away. What didn't function or was simply missing had been replaced by rusted metal; a caliper supporting a withered leg, a triple-pronged hook replacing a missing forearm, and a plate and screws hinging his jaw.

A monster, thought Bilbo. An actual, bona fide monster. One that Bilbo realised was currently staring him down. He ducked back behind the boxes as quick as he could, mind racing in an attempt to solve this latest problem.

Thorin stood. "Let them back on the ship, and you can do what you want with me!" he called out.

"As you wish," replied Azog with a sickening grin.

"Thorin, no!" hissed Balin.

"Uncle!"

_< <Don't ye feckin' dare, ye hairy melon-headed ingrate bastard!>>_ Dwalin shouted over the comms.

"Enough!" Thorin all but shouted. "When the others are back on board, you seal the _Mercator_ , you blow the doors, and you get the hell out of here. The mission still stands. That's an order. Clear?"

He fixed each one of the crew with a furious gaze, silently demanding their acquiescence. Felix and Gloin both grunted out their agreement. Even Gandalf gave the idea a nod. Only Bilbo kept quiet, stubbornly refusing to meet Thorin's eye; he'd be damned if he was going to indulge this stupidity.

But then Thorin was gone, over the barricade and walking unarmed towards the cargo bay doors, like a sleepwalker in a dream. And whatever goodbye Bilbo might have said was lost.

He passed Dwalin and Gloin on the ramp, carrying an unconscious Fili between them. There was blood on Fili's abdomen. Lots of it. And blood staining Dwalin's shoulder. The trio were whisked away to the upper deck by Oin.

Thorin gestured, a small wave of two fingers.

"Felix, the doors," said Gandalf.

_< <But...>>_

"Now!"

With a hum, the doors raised and clanged shut, protecting the crew. Bilbo could still see Thorin though, through the hole that had been cut into the _Mercator_. He stopped a short distance away from Azog and waited.

They regarded each other for a few moments, then Azog sneered dismissively. There was a flicker of movement, a crack, and Thorin sagged to his knees. Another crack and he slumped over onto his side.

Bilbo was halfway to the hole before even he knew what he was about. Shouts carried after him, but he couldn't hear them for the rushing in his ears. He slipped out of the ship and ran to where Thorin lay. Two plumes of blood on his shirt marked where Azog had shot him. Twice, near the heart.

An Orc, one of Azog's lackeys, approached, knife drawn and grinning cruelly. Bilbo planted himself in between Thorin and the approaching Orc and pulled his pistol from the back of his waistband. It hummed comfortingly in his hands as he turned it on.

He took aim, arms trembling a little, and fired. The Orc dropped with a hole neatly burned into its forehead. Bilbo aimed at the next nearest one, and the next, and then at Azog. But an explosion and a sudden gust of wind threw him off and the shot went wide, searing a burn across Azog's face.

Suddenly, Gloin and Kili were at his elbows, shouting furiously and firing round after round into the panicked mass of Goblins and Orcs.

"Hurry! Get onto the ship!" yelled Gloin over the rushing air.

The three of them half-carried, half-dragged Thorin back, taking shots at the now-retreating Orcs where they could. Bilbo saw Azog reluctantly turning away and hurrying back to where they had come from. His instinct for self-preservation out-weighed his desire for revenge. Bilbo stored that particular observation away for later with the feeling that, having slipped out his grasp once before, Azog would probably come for them again.

Once aboard, more sets of hands helped to carry the unconscious Thorin up past the med bay and towards the kitchen. Gandalf swiped place mats and cutlery off the table and that was where they set him down. Immediately, Oin and Gandalf set to work, cutting the bloodied shirt away from Thorin's chest.

"Alright, lads, Felix! Seal it up!" Gloin called out.

Bofur and Nori sprinted through the upper deck, slamming doors until Felix eventually came over the tannoy,  _< <Doors closed. Seal is good. We are green for takeoff.>>_

"Blow it," Dwalin said to Gloin.

"Not yet!" cried Oin. "We need to get Thorin down to the med bay. All my tools are down there...we may need to open up his chest."

Bilbo winced, as did a few of the others.

_< <Med bay ain't airtight, Oin,>>_ replied Felix.

Thorin began to convulse violently on the table, jolting them back into action.

"We shall have to make do with what we have," Gandalf replied sharply, taking Thorin's wrist and looking at his watch. "Gloin, the next bomb if you please."

A second, larger explosion made the ship shudder and groan.

_< <Hold on!>>_

Bilbo's stomach had the familiar swooping sensation as the _Mercator_ lifted into the air and away. It plummeted a second later, as he realised that Thorin's chest was no longer moving.

"Ori, get me a syringe of epinephrine!" yelled Oin. Ori rummaged through a crimson leather bag and tossed a tube over to Oin.

He popped off a cap at one end, revealing an extremely large needle, which he then promptly slammed into Thorin's chest.

Oin paused, he and the rest of the crew waiting for a reaction in silent horror. Thorin lay still and did not respond. Gandalf, who had previously been measuring Thorin's pulse and muttering under his breath, merely leaned over and brought his fist down hard onto the middle of Thorin's sternum.

Thorin gave one giant gasp and started breathing again. The crew, as one sighed in relief and erupted into a flurry of movement as Oin and Gandalf barked orders whilst they attempted to stop the bleeding.

Bilbo, however, heard none of it. Relief, palpable and dizzying swept through him. He staggered backwards until the backs of his knees hit one of the sofas. Unable to support his own weight, he sagged down next to Fili, lying unconscious and bandaged but seemingly stable for now. Bilbo patted the lad's foot affectionately and threw a watery smile at Kili, who cradled his brother's head. He closed his eyes and hummed one of his father's old walking songs to himself, trying to distract from the pit-pat of blood on the kitchen floor, and settled for the long wait.

Even in Bilbo's decidedly non-medical experience, he knew that taking two shots to the chest could have been fatal. Could still _be_ fatal, if they had done too much damage. But where there was life, Bilbo thought, there was always hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chinese:  
>  _Tai kong sōu you di xing qui dōu sai jin wo de pigu_ \- Stuff all the planets in the universe up my ass (My personal favourite Firefly cuss)
> 
> _Wô de mā_ \- Mother of God
> 
> _goushî_ \- junk
> 
>  
> 
> Phew. Hopefully the length of this update makes up for how long it took to appear.  
> I should say a massive thanks to Ceallig and Drakhammer: the compliments you guys have given me over the last couple of days basically lit a fire under my ass which meant this got finished earlier than it would have done. : 3  
> And a huge thanks to you, my lovely readers, for kudosing and commenting. When I originally started this, I thought it'd just be me throwing my slightly wacky AU out into the black and that nothing'd come back. But the responses I've had have been humbling and have encouraged me to keep at it. You guys are amazing. 
> 
> Next chapter is underway, and I got a name aaaalll picked out. Stay shiny!


	11. Talk Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " _I wanna talk tonight_  
>  _Until the morning light_  
>  _'Bout how you saved my life_ "
> 
> Talk Tonight by Oasis

A massive explosion made the ship shudder violently. Felix quickly buckled up her safety harness, cussing merrily to herself. This was a stupid, _stupid_  plan. But she'd not come up with anything better and she sure as hell wasn't gonna just  _sit there._ Boxes and a couple of Goblins (she noted with some satisfaction) got sucked out through the hole torn into the hangar and out into the black as she angled the VTOL thrusters and lifted the ship of the deck. The right thruster kept shorting, causing the ship to jolt back down.

"C'mon, baby. You can do this," she whispered, raising the _Mercator_ higher to avoid taking the thruster out completely. "I know you're hurtin', but we gotta save our boys, ok? They're countin' on us." The power shorts ceased. "Atta' girl."

Felix eyeballed the hole. Dwalin certainly knew his craft; it was big enough. Just about. "Hold on!" she radioed down to the kitchen, and yanked the control stick. The ship surged forward, debris scraping along the sides of the hull. Felix winced in sympathy. Bursting out into space, Felix immediately had to throw the _Mercator_ to port to avoid an impending asteroid. As they scooted over the top of the scavengers' ship to resume their course for Carrock, Felix clocked another set of bay doors starting to open.

" _Shèng zhōu'èr gāowán._ Gandalf," she called. "Need you."

_< <I'm a little...busy right now>>_ replied Gandalf. _ <<What's the matter?>>_

"Y'know how if you kick a wasps' nest and all the wasps get awful tetchy and chase after you? Well, consider the nest well and truly booted."

<< _I shan't be much longer. We're just finishing stitching Thorin up and then I'll be along shortly. >>_

Felix huffed in irritation; some guidance wouldn't have gone amiss. _"_ Right then, guess it's just you and me, old lady."

They were outnumbered and outgunned, judging by the dozen or so Orc ships she could see attached to the Goblin ship. And the Goblins'd have their own vessels too - short range most likely; they never liked to stray too far from their homes. They were also outclassed. Fenris Battleships were like the wheel; many had tried to reinvent them and all had failed. They were agile, fast and armed to the teeth. Mahal only knew where Azog had acquired _those_  from. Orcs rarely gave a rat's ass for safety either, so Felix would be willing to bet these'd had their containment panels stripped as well, giving them an extra kick of speed.

But Felix wasn't just a good pilot. She was fairly confident she was the _best_  pilot. And Orcs could fly, sure. But they couldn't _soar._

_"_ Bifur, Bofur, keep her singin' for a little bit longer!"

_< <Right y'are, mèimei,>>_ replied Bofur.

Drawing as much power from the engines as was possible, Felix activated the acceleration drive. The ship lurched forward and everything else fell away; there was only her, the ship, and the obstacles in front of them. Of which there were many. At a speed most pilots would have considered suicidal, they wove through the asteroid field, twisting and rolling to avoid rocks and missiles both. Every now and again, Felix would catch a flicker on the rear vid screen as one of their pursuers misjudged their course, crashed and exploded. It cheered her no end.

She paid the yelling from the kitchen little mind, blocking it out to background noise. The grav systems were having trouble compensating for the Gs she was pulling in the turns, so the ride wasn't the smoothest. Felix ignored it; they'd be far more pissed if she slowed down and they got caught.

The asteroid field seemed to be thinning, the rocks getting larger but fewer and farther between. A bit of breathing space and she checked quickly checked the nav screen. It was as she thought; the Goblins had done them a favour and they were close to the edge of the Mists. And it appeared that they'd lost their pursuers. Felix reduced the power; they could coast now that things looked clear in both directions. A hand on her shoulder made her jump.

" _Gah!"_ Felix whipped round, arms half raised to protect herself. Gandalf. It was only Gandalf. He looked down on her sympathetically as she drew in a shaky breath.

"Sorry, my dear. I thought you would have heard me coming."

"Was concentrating on this shitshow." She nodded towards the window. "How are they?"

"They are stable for the moment," replied Gandalf. Felix sagged with relief. "But it is vital that we make port as soon as possible. Oin needs to access the medbay."

"I hear ya. Carrock is a few hours away. As long as we maintain this speed, we should be-  _tāmāde!_ Look!" Felix stabbed the rear vid screen with her finger. It flared white as a distant asteroid burst apart. Through the nimbus of vaporised rock and dust, four Fenris ships emerged, heading straight for the _Mercator_. "This is not good. This is very not good..."

Without hesitation, Gandalf took a seat in the co-pilot's chair and switched off the open comms channel with the rest of the ship. He typed in a series of instructions, then reached for the handset and said, "Manwe, Manwe, Manwe."

Almost immediately a voice answered,  _< <Go ahead.>>_

_"_ Làthspell. Repeat: Làthspell." Gandalf paused to check the nav screens. "Co-ordinates are Carrock A.U. 56,18,07. Bearing 35,99,42. Over."

_< <Roger that.>>_

_"_ Err, Gandalf. Who was that?"

"Eagles," he replied with a smug look.

" _Eagles?!"_ repeated Felix, several octaves higher. " _She-yit..."_  she breathed. Eagles were the Alliance's space-faring black ops and little to nothing was known about how they operated. Amongst smugglers, they were an almost-mythical bogeyman. Felix had only half-believed they existed until 10 seconds prior. She appraised the old man with new eyes; he must have had one _hell_  of an interesting career.

But there were more pressing matters at hand. Thanks to Felix's evasive manoeuvres, they had a decent head start, but the Orc vessels were slowly gaining ground and as they broke out of the Mists, there would be nowhere to hide. They would run them down, sure as the turning of worlds.

It felt like a pathetic attempt to postpone the inevitable but there was really only one thing Felix could do. "We're runnin'," she said. It was not a thing up for debate.

"I think that would be wise," agreed Gandalf.

Felix prepped the engine system for a hard burn and slammed the big red button. There was a muffled boom and the lights flickered and died, plunging them into darkness for a few seconds until the emergency lighting kicked in. Everything was bathed in an sinister red glow and Felix, for the first time in her life, began to seriously contemplate her own mortality. A quick check showed that the rudimentary systems - navigation, comms, atmo, and grav - were still running off their ancillary generators. Everything else had gone dark. They were drifting.

Opening a channel to the engine room, Felix said, "Bifur, Bofur, you guys ok?"

_< <Aye,>>_ said Bofur. _< <Bifur's taken a knock t'the head, but he'll live. Not sure my hat'll ever be the same. She was all set for a burn an' there was this crunch and then... pop. Bif reckons the breakers had been tampered with. _ _Mèimei, I'm sorry, she's- >>_

_"_ I know," Felix interrupted. She wasn't ready to hear that about her ship. Not today. Not ever. "When will the Eagles get here?" she asked Gandalf in desperation.

"Hard to say. The distress call I sent was urgent... they could be minutes, or they could be hours."

She looked at Gandalf with an expression of mild terror. For the foreseeable future, they were on their own. _"_ Well...shit."

_"_ I think we have a little while, before..."

"Before we all get horribly tortured and eaten? Yeah, I'd say we've got about ten minutes or so. Long enough to..."

"To make the necessary preparations," finished Gandalf. He stood and placed a gentle hand on Felix's shoulder. "I shall inform the crew of our present situation." And with that, he left.

With a slight stagger, Felix made her way over to the flight deck lockers and pulled out an old, tatty duffel bag. She checked the contents over: several dozen shotgun rounds and a pair of pistols. Whatever the crew decided, Felix sure as hell wasn't going to go down quietly.

Gandalf returned. "They will fight," he said. "Balin and Kili have agreed to do what needs to be done, if the time comes." Felix hummed in reply.

Cradling her shotgun, Felix stared out unseeing into the inky black, speckled with stars. She thought it would probably be 'when' rather than 'if'. She'd been taught the importance of hope, but also that a body could waste a life away hoping. Sometimes what you needed was a healthy dose of pragmatism and a big damn gun. Felix kept that spark kindled though; there was too much left unsaid and undone to completely give up now. Giving the paw of her  _jīnmāo_  a flick, she mouthed a silent prayer. _'_ _Bàba, whenever you're ready...'_

Movement outside, and Felix's eyes refocused. One second there was emptiness and stars, and the next, there was a fleet of ships heading towards them. Sleek and shining, they flew around the _Mercator_ like a murmuration of starlings.

_"_ Where the _fuck_  did they come from?!" she exclaimed. "There weren't  _nothin'_ on the scanners."

"Advanced cloaking technology," Gandalf said with a wink. "Very hush-hush, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention it to anyone."

"But...but... _thermodynamics, Gandalf!!"_

The sly old dog only tapped his nose knowingly and went to tell the crew that the Hand of God had saved them or some  _goushî_  like that. Felix collapsed in her seat, utterly drained. That one had been much closer for comfort than she'd liked. Anyone else would say they'd been lucky. Felix knew better. It was something stronger than luck, more decisive than chance. And it had pulled her out of more scrapes than she'd care to count. "Thanks,  _Bàba,"_ she whispered.

The comms crackled.  _< <Mercator, this is Eagle One. All clear. I repeat, all clear. The Orcs are running.>>_

_"_ Thanks, Eagle One. You just saved our asses."

_< <When Commander Greyhame calls in an urgent favour, one has little choice but to answer.>>_ Felix snorted in amusement; he'd got that one right. _< <Our scans show that you're powered down. Is there a problem?>>_

"The fuel breakers failed," Felix replied, "and a surge took out our engine. Ancillary systems are running, but with a limited span. And to cap it all, half the ship has no atmo; we're sealed in the upper decks."

_< <Sounds like you've had quite the adventure. Do you think you can make it 7 hours?>>_

Felix checked the instruments. "Er, sure?"

_< <Good. We'll guide you in to Carrock.>>_

_"_ How do you propose to do- _Whoa!"_   The nose of one of the Eagles loomed over the top of the _Mercator's_ windscreen. The ship shook slightly and they were pulled up towards the Eagle's belly. Felix scowled; she was really beginning to hate mag grapplers.

_< <Just relax, we'll have you on solid ground shortly. Out. >>_

Radioing down to the engine room, she told Bofur to re-route the navigation generator to the lighting system; they wouldn't need it for the time being and having the lights back on would make everyone, not least her, feel a whole lot better. With instructions to wake her when they hit Carrock, Felix retreated to her room. She needed the space, she thought with some irony.

 

***************

 

Curling his toes in the velvety turf, Bilbo breathed in the sweet, clean air of Carrock. He stood barefoot on a small hill near to where the _Mercator_ had landed. He and the crew had been ordered to leave as Felix, Bofur, and Bifur worked to assess the damage to the ship, and Oin worked to assess the damage to Thorin and Fili. Bilbo was grateful to be able to stretch his legs again, and to get the smell of blood and iodine out of his nose. The breeze and the warm sun combined to blow away the horror of the last couple of days until it was no more than a bad dream. They'd survived. They would all survive.

Oin and Gandalf had patched up Thorin and Fili with a limited supply of bandages, coffee filters, tobacco leaf (good for smoking and also for an anti-coagulant in a pinch), and duct tape. Felix had rattled them round so hard, Bilbo had thought his teeth were going to fall out, then the engine had exploded and everything had gone dark. It had been good fortune that Gandalf's friends had shown up when they did. Otherwise...Bilbo shuddered. No. He simply refused to think of what might have happened. They were safe and that was what mattered.

He sat, watching the clouds and the birds and the wind ruffling the trees, and absently toyed with the bandage on his hand. Curiosity won out and he unwrapped it, revealing nothing more than a gnarled scab in his palm. It was almost as if... He poked it gently and felt the chip underneath. His stomach roiled. No, it was still there.

"What are you?" he murmured.

The chip did not reply.

For a brief moment, he considered trying it out on the _Mercator_ , then ruled it out. They were working hard to fix her and he didn't want to accidentally break her again. Besides, if even half what Fili and Kili, Bofur, and even Dwalin, had said about the ship was true, it would be an _unwise_  move. Logically, he knew it was impossible, but something deep down cautioned against messing with a ship that occasionally exhibited apparent signs of sentience. So for the time being, he decided to wait. Bilbo wrapped the scab back up under the bandage and resolved to think no more about it that day. He was just content on enjoying being alive and on solid ground again.

The sky had turned from azure to navy by the time Bilbo was called in. Bombur had once again surpassed himself in making an actual meal out of their meager stores, even if portion sizes were much smaller than usual. Dinner was subdued; it was hard not to think about why two of the chairs were empty. As soon as he'd finished, Kili shot off down to the room he shared with his brother. Oin had moved Fili to his shared quarters, wanting to free up more space for Thorin. With no one really in a gaming mood, the others drifted off in ones and twos. Bilbo, hating to feel useless, offered to help Bombur with the washing up.

Armed with a dish towel and no small amount of determination, Bilbo threw himself into the task. It was the distraction he needed. Once everything had been dried clean and squeaky, he wandered aimlessly back to his room. As he passed the medbay, Oin poked his head out and beckoned him over.

"He's been askin' after you."

"After me?" repeated Bilbo in astonishment.

"Aye, lad. Wants a word, although..."

"Yes?" Bilbo said slowly as Oin pulled an inscrutable face.

"He's had a _lot_  of morphine, so he's a bit addled in the brain pan -" Oin tapped his temple "- if you catch mah drift."

"Addled. Right."

"And he might just fall asleep in the middle of a sentence. Don' worry about that. It's perfectly normal."

"I'll bear it in mind," said Bilbo as Oin steered him into the room.

At the sound of footsteps, Thorin lifted his head slightly. "Bilbo," he breathed and gave him a brilliant if dopey grin. Addled _indeed._

"Hello, trouble," Bilbo replied and he took a seat on the stool next to the bed.

"I am no trouble at all," said Thorin, puffing himself indignantly. The effect was rather spoilt by the slurring and wincing as his wounds twinged.

Bilbo sighed in exasperation and looked to Oin, who just shrugged and mimed 'I'll be out here if you need' and then vanished. He was on his own.

With his near hand, Thorin pawed at Bilbo's arm for a moment. It was only as he attempted to put the arm back where it had been and Thorin grabbed his hand, that Bilbo realised that was what he'd been after all along. He looked down at the bed, Thorin's hand dwarfing his own. The skin was rough and callused, and a little chilled. Bilbo rubbed gently at Thorin's fingers, trying to encourage some warmth back into them.

"How-" Bilbo started, paused, and then gathered himself for a second try. "How are you feeling?" he asked, stoically avoiding looking up.

"Can't feel a thing," said Thorin happily. "S'the good stuff." He was slurring so much, Bilbo half expect him to start hiccuping. "Hey, don' worry about me," Thorin continued, squeezing Bilbo's hand to emphasize his point. "Oin says I'm as fit azza fiddle."

Bilbo glared at the grinning idiot before him. "You have two holes in your chest. One almost through your heart. You lost 3 pints of blood, most of it onto the kitchen floor. And you technically died. Twice. That is not even _close_ to the definition of 'fit as a fiddle', that is, in fact, quite the opposite."

"But... I am alive," Thorin countered triumphantly.

It took great effort, but Bilbo managed to hold his temper. The daft apeth was up to his eyeballs in opiates; trying to argue would be impossible. Thorin's face suddenly turned pensive and solemn. He looked up at Bilbo, fixing him with those piercing blue eyes and Bilbo found himself fixed into place.

"I am alive. I am alive because of you," he whispered, voice wavering and cracking. "I thought you weak, soft, and cowardly... a moneyed Core Worlder with no idea how we live and no care to find out.  _Bǎobèi_  , I judged you wrongly. Please forgive me."

"It's alright, Thorin," Bilbo finally answered after unsticking his tongue from the roof of his mouth and rebooting his brain. He patted Thorin's hand clumsily. "I would have misjudged me too."

"We are friends, then?"

"Always," said Bilbo. And he meant it.

Apparently exhausted by the fervour of his little speech and satisfied by Bilbo's declaration, Thorin's eyelids began to drop and his breathing began to deepen.

"Go to sleep, you ridiculous creature," Bilbo ordered fondly. Thorin mumbled something unintelligible in response, and Bilbo was willing to bet it had been in Chinese. And rude.

He waited until Thorin's breathing had evened out, before slipping his hand away and leaving the infirmary. Safely back in his room, he slid the door shut and leaned his back against it, muttering sarcastically to himself, " _O, zhé zhé shì gè kuàliè de jīnzhǎn."_

Flinging himself onto his bed, Bilbo dimmed the lights and frowned viciously at the ceiling. He was absolutely, emphatically and concertedly not going to read _anything_  into what had just happened. Thorin was so high, they could tie him atop the ship and use him as a weather vane. He probably didn't know what he was saying, and more than likely wouldn't remember a thing once the drugs had worn off. There was no sense in holding out for something that likely was never  _ever_ going to happen. 

Taking his thoughts in hand, so to speak, Bilbo made himself drop the issue. Slowly and deliberately, he dressed for bed, turned out the light and snuggled down under the covers. As if the duvet were a shield from the terrors he'd faced, the last few days simply melted away and he sighed blissfully. 

He'd just started to drift off when one of the many adages his father had been so fond of popped into his head. 'A drunk mouth speaks a sober heart.'

Bilbo rammed the pillow over his face and groaned in frustration. This was going to be a constant vexation for him. He had that feeling.

 

***************

 

"Stop hovering! You're making me nervous."

" _I'm_  making _you_  nervous?" retorted Kili. "You're the  _shǎguā_  who got shot! I thought you we're going to _die_."

 Fili scoffed. "No you didn't. Don't lie."

"Ok, fine. I didn't think you were _actually_ going to _die_ die. But it was a near thing..." Kili sat heavily on the end of the bed by Fili's feet, toying with the fraying hem of the blanket. "I was worried."

"For a little bit, so was I."

Kili stared at his brother. Somehow knowing that was _worse._ "Just don't do it again, please?"

"Believe me, I have no intention of repeating this experience."

Fili shifted to get comfortable and then winced as the staples in his stomach pulled. In his best impression of a doting sibling, Kili fussed with Fili's pillows until he was comfortable and then cuffed him round the head with one. Only gently, of course. Kili wasn't a total asshole. 

"Prick," said Fili lovingly.

Sitting back down, Kili watched his brother. Fili looked like shit, almost as white as the crisp bandages wrapped round his middle. It was usually Kili himself who was the one who got hurt; a consequence of taking too long to grow into his gangly limbs, and later, from having a smart mouth at the wrong moments. Being on the other side of the experience sucked. Not nearly as much as getting shot though. Kili had never had _that_  particular kind of fun.

"Do you need anything?" he asked, brow furrowing in concern. All Oin had said was 'rest and fluids. _Not_  beer. And more pain meds if he asks for them.' The meds were on the small table between their bunks, in easy reach for Fili. And Kili had borrowed-without-permission a huge jug from the kitchen and filled it with water. Other than that, he was at a loss on what to do next.

"Just sleep, please," Fili replied around a yawn. Kili smiled. And there was resting. He wasn't too bad at this 'looking after' thing after all. 

"Yeah, me too. I'm beat." Turning off the light, Kili flopped down onto his own bunk. "Wake me if you need anything."

"Mmm."

" _Fili."_

_"Fine._  I promise I'll wake you."

Kili huffed. That was good enough for him. "G'night  _gēgē."_

_"_ Night  _dìdì."_

It wasn't long until Kili heard his brother's snuffling snores. Unusually for Kili, sleep didn't come as quickly as it usually did. The last couple of days could have gone _very_ differently and he was finding it hard to shake the dark ' _what ifs'_. Eventually Fili's snoring got so loud that Kili couldn't hear himself think anymore. He fell asleep soon after that. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chinese:
> 
>  _Shèng zhōu'èr gāowán._ \- Holy testicle Tuesday  
>  _mèimei_ \- Little sister  
>  _tāmāde_ \- Shit, fuck  
>  _jīnmāo_ \- Lucky cat  
>  _Bàba_ \- Dad  
>  _goushî_ \- shit  
>  _Bǎobèi_ \- Darling, treasure  
>  _O, zhé zhé shì gè kuàliè de jīnzhǎn._ \- Oh, now this is a really happy development.  
>  _shǎguā_ \- Melon head  
>  _gēgē_ \- Big brother  
>  _dìdì_ \- Little brother
> 
> Daft apeth - Nothern English slang - Essentially, a muppet
> 
>  
> 
>    
> I gave myself feelings, and I didn't want those, so here, you can all share in my misery.
> 
> Thanks for reading, kudosing and commenting! Stay shiny!


	12. Raise A Wreck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _With a flash of her eyes and not much more_   
>  _She could raise a wreck from the ocean floor_
> 
> Raise A Wreck by Skinny Lister

It took Bifur, Bofur and Felix the best part of a week pulling double shifts to repair the damage to the  _Mercator's_  engine. A little unsettled by their wide-eyed, absent stares of exhaustion and sudden bursts of frenetic activity, the rest of the crew had been giving the trio a wide berth as a matter of course. But when, discovering the lack of tea, Bofur dissolved into a sobbing heap on the kitchen floor, the situation was deemed far too unstable and Bombur was universally declared the sole go-between. He kept them fed, watered and made sure they got at least a couple of hours sleep. The rest of the crew simply stayed out of their way. 

As Thorin was still up to his eyeballs on whatever fun cocktail of drugs Oin had dreamt up, Gandalf took on the roll of defacto leader. Idle hands were soon put to good use. Those who could were enlisted to stow crates and boxes that the Goblins had ransacked, tidy the mayhem that had been left, and prepare the ship for whatever repairs would need completing next. Fili, insistent on getting up and  _doing_  rather than convalescing in his room _,_  was allowed to take stock of the ammo and food stores. Dwalin was given the most difficult task of all: keeping Thorin stationary in the medbay. 

Even Bilbo helped. He and Ori had been determined; they were well within the deadlines they'd set themselves for the Arkenstone rebuild and getting the ship fixed was a more urgent priority. Which was how Bilbo and Ori ended up wandering around the ship armed with metal files, sanding down the damaged, jagged edges of the hull ready for the welding that would come later. It was monotonous and tedious, but just what he needed. He spent most of his days with his mind blank, concentrating on not skinning his  - or Ori's -knuckles. And he was so physically drained at the end of the day that he was asleep the instant his head hit the pillow.

As for the Thorin issue, Bilbo had not seen him since That Night. He'd not visited, wanting to give Thorin (and, equally, himself) a little time to think. If Thorin needed time to think, that is. If he remembered the conversation  _at all._  In any case, he was grateful for the space that Thorin's enforced recuperation provided. Since all that unpleasantness with Gollum and the chip and Azog, things had changed. He'd changed. Home was no longer just Bag End, it had become the  _Mercator_  too. Safety was not a door shut between him and the rest of the world; now it was the knowledge that  _he was not alone_. There were fifteen people on this ship and Bilbo was fairly certain that they would all put themselves into harm's way to protect him, and he would do the same. And life no longer seemed to stretch windingly before him, green and lazy like the languid days of summer. It had become something precious and fragile, easily broken and resilient all at once. Such was life in space, he supposed. Whatever the change, he was better rested and calmer than he had been in weeks. 

After several days of hard graft, Bifur, Bofur and Felix finally emerged from the engine room just in time for dinner and declared the engine fixed. Partially. As the Eagles had dropped them in the middle of nowhere and with limited supplies, the trio had only been able to do a botch job. The original itinerary had allowed for a brief supply and refuel at Carrock's main port, but it had not allowed for the extent of damage that had been inflicted on the ship. They would be able to limp to the port to acquire new parts, but given the age of the ship, it was unlikely that they would find them readily available. The best case scenario was that they would have to order them from off-world. The worst case scenario was that they wouldn't be able to get hold of them at all and would have to find a completely new ship.  _Nobody_  liked that option. 

"How long would it take to get the new parts delivered? If we did need to order them, I mean," asked Kili. 

Bofur stroked his moustache as he thought. "Several weeks. If not months. There's only a couple o'suppliers o'Firefly parts left and they're on t'other side o't'Mists."

"What about Kenny's?" asked Bombur. 

"Got hit by Orcs last year. Workshop burned t'the ground." 

The crew stared at their plates, hopeless. 

"I may know someone," said Gandalf slowly, "but his temperament is what one may call  _unpredictable_."

"What do you mean 'unpredictable'?" Bilbo said. Gandalf  _liked_  being unhelpfully vague. It was becoming most annoying.

"As I recall, he shot one of my flight lieutenants. Only a glancing blow really; the poor chap was mostly unharmed. Beorn - that's his name - tends to prefer machines over people and he took exception to the way my lieutenant was talking to him."

"Ah," replied Bilbo. 

"I don't supposed we have any other choice, do we?" Balin asked with resignation. 

"Not unless we want to take a chance at the ports, no."

"I don't care if he juggles geese," said Felix. "If he can get us what we need to make the old lady space-worthy again, I say we go."

She glared defiantly round the table, as if daring someone to disagree. For once, the crew were all in accord. 

"Excellent!" exclaimed Gandalf and he clapped his hands decisively. "I think we should all get a good night's rest and set out tomorrow morning."

Bilbo's instinct for trouble flared. Gandalf's smile was too brittle, his cheerful voice forced. No one else seemed to notice.  

Dwalin nodded and stood. "Right then. I'll go and tell Captain Codeine."

The rest of the crew dispersed, most of them to their beds, until only Gandalf and Bilbo remained. Bilbo scrutinised the man across the table carefully. Now they were alone, he was certain. "You're afraid."

"Nonsense," blustered Gandalf and retreated to his own quarters. 

Yes, Gandalf was  _definitely_  afraid. That didn't bode well for any of them. 

 

***************

 

The next morning saw the entire crew up and moving at a reasonable hour. They were nervy and excitable. Thorin, who'd finally been allowed out, sat at the head of the kitchen table, pale and wrapped in a blanket. Gandalf studiously avoided meeting Bilbo's eye, and Bilbo was studiously avoiding meeting Thorin's. If it was an uncomfortable breakfast for the three of them, the others were oblivious. 

As soon as food was finished and cleared away, Felix bounded off up to the bridge with Fili and Kili in tow. Gandalf walked side by side with Bilbo, making harrumphing noises that sounded like he was trying to reassure himself. Thorin shuffled behind, grumpily swatting Dwalin away when it looked like Thorin was about to teeter over. 

Once Thorin and Fili were ushered (under protest) into chairs, Gandalf keyed in the co-ordinates and Felix launched the ignition sequence. There was a slight delay, which made everyone hold their breath, before the engines started their comforting drone. 

The flight wasn't long and Bilbo was happy to stare out the window and watch the landscape unfold beneath them. Blue winding streams, leafy woods and rolling plains. Everything seemed oversaturated with colour and it almost hurt Bilbo's eyes to look. He forced himself to look though; it reminded him of Shire and he wasn't sure when he see so much green again. 

Felix's tuneless humming was interrupted by a beeping noise and Bilbo, stood behind her chair, saw the words ' _Proximity Alert'_  flash up on a vid screen. He sighed internally. 

She took one look at the radar and yelled, "No no no! Don't do that!" 

"Don't do what? What is it?" said Dwalin. 

"Orcs," she hissed. "Now we're burning a trail again they've spotted us. They're comin' in hot from orbit." 

  _O_ _f course they have_ , thought Bilbo sardonically.  _Narrative causality strikes again._

_"_ What can we do, Gandalf?" said Thorin. 

"Run."

Twiddling knobs and flipping switches, Felix coaxed a little more speed out of the ship.

"Oh, she ain't gonna like this," she muttered. Keeping both eyes firmly on the route ahead, she addressed the men, "Here's how it is: thrusters aren't fully rotating yet, so we got the manoeuverability of a concrete oliphaunt. We're running down to the wire on fuel and, at the moment, she's holding together through good will and duct tape. Aside from flying close to the hard deck to futz their radar, I got nothing."

"Get as close to the ground as you dare," said Gandalf, "and keep heading for Beorn's. His air defence system is old but it's still effective."

"An air defence system?!" repeated Kili. "Who the hell  _is_  this guy?"

Gandalf only stared determinedly at the rear vid screen and did not answer. 

"Three thousand metres and closing," he said after a tense minute. 

Bilbo caught a blink of light in the distance and Felix jerked the ship to one side. A missile streaked past the starboard side of the ship. 

Furious, Felix yanked the comms handset down from above her head and broadcast on all available frequencies, "This is Firefly Class  _Mercator_. We are an unarmed vessel requesting aid. Six Orc vessels are in pursuit."

There was another flash and Felix had to swerve the ship again to avoid being hit. 

"I repeat, we are in the Firefly.  _We are unarmed._  You got eyes, don't you? Shoot the ruttin' Orcs instead!"

As they got closer, Bilbo could heard the  _thud thud thud_  as a giant cannon fired several rounds over the top of the ship. Two Orc ships exploded in plumes of orange and black behind them and the rest peeled off, retreating back into orbit. In the cabin, there was a collective sigh of relief. They were safe for the moment.

Amongst the piles of rusted metal and wild greenery that seemed to stretch for a mile in every direction and with the combined efforts of Bilbo and Kili, they managed to find a space large enough to land the ship. The  _Mercator_  set down with an unnecessary bump, as if she were throwing her hands up in the air and refusing to move until everyone was being nicer to her. 

Gandalf summoned the entire crew down to the cargo bay and paced up and down in front of them a few times before opening the doors. Bilbo watched him suspiciously; the very un-Gandalf-like behaviour only served to further cement his hypothesis that the old man was more than a little nervous. 

"We must be  _very, very_  careful not to alarm Beorn. Make no sudden movements and leave all your weapons here." Gandalf glared pointedly at Dwalin and Gloin in particular. "Be careful not to reveal too much of our venture... we don't want that information getting into the wrong hands. And be  _polite_." This time, he glared at Felix.

"What?" she exclaimed. "He shot at us! If I can't sass people who shoot at me, who can I sass?!"

"Maybe that's why they shoot at you..." muttered Kili. Felix twisted round Bifur's back and thumped Kili's arm. " _OW!_  You all saw that, right? Spacers, they're a bunch of savages I tell you." 

The crew, Bilbo included, rolled their eyes. 

"You had that one coming,  _dìdì,"_  said Fili, sniggering. Kili narrowed his eyes at his brother and mumbled something about loyalties.

"Actually, on second thoughts, it will be best if you leave all the talking to me," said Gandalf, looking as though his patience was finally beginning to reach its limit. "Bilbo, come with me please."

"Wait, I'm sorry,  _me?"_

"Yes, you. Now chop chop. Beorn is waiting. And the rest of you stay here. And don't come out until I give the signal," Gandalf ordered, punctuating each word with a wag of his finger. He turned sharply on his heel and marched down the ramp. Bilbo had to trot to keep up with him, taking two steps for every one stride of Gandalf's long legs. 

They walked in silence along a small dirt path, heading towards a structure that Bilbo supposed was a vague approximation of a house. On either side of the track lay the carcasses of old ships, entangled with weeds and saplings. Nothing could be heard, save the faint whine of the breeze singing across the raw, torn edges of metal. The eerie noise, combined with having been shot at  _once_  already today and the high likelihood it might happen  _again_ , unsettled Bilbo greatly. 

As they neared the house, Gandalf slowed and then stopped about twenty feet from the door. He coughed nervously. They waited. Nothing happened. Bilbo was just about to open his mouth to speak, when the door crashed open, booted from the inside and a man unfurled himself from the doorway and strode towards them. Beorn was  _massive -_  taller than Dwalin by a head and broad to match. Tattooed, clad in a tatty leather jacket, and with an impressive scowl on his weather-beaten face, Beorn radiated unspoken threat. The intimidating aura was rather effectively punctuated, Bilbo thought, by the shotgun that was steadily levelled towards Gandalf's head. 

"Whaddya want?" Beorn rumbled and cocked the gun. 

Gandalf raised his hands slowly. Bilbo followed suit. "Nothing, my dear fellow, save your help. We came across a spot of bother with those Orcs you saw earlier, and-"

"I saw. I don't appreciate you bringing them to my doorstep."

"Yes, well, I am  _sorry_  about that."

"We thought we'd lost them," interjected Bilbo. Beorn swung the shotgun to point and him now. Bilbo gulped. 

"And you thought you'd get me to take care of them for you, is that it?"

"Not at all, I assure you," replied Gandalf and the gun returned to point at him again. "Our ship was damaged in the Mists and we were hoping we could find some replacement parts."

"That hunk of  _goushî?"_  Beorn gestured behind them, towards the  _Mercator._  "You'd be better scraping it and getting a new one, a thing that old."

Bilbo and Gandalf exchanged a look. "Our pilot is very attached to it. Her. The ship," said Bilbo. 

"It has extreme sentimental value," added Gandalf.

Beorn humphed. "What's your business?"

"Traders. Free-lance," Gandalf neatly replied. "On our way to Esgaroth."

"Cargo?"

"None as yet. Our contact on-world will supply us."

Beorn narrowed his eyes at the pair of them, trying to sniff out the lie that he  _knew_  was there. "And your crew, how many?"

"Oh, just a handful..." said Gandalf with a grand waft of his hand. 

"How many?" Beorn repeated, bringing the drifting shotgun back to bear on them. 

Gandalf began listing the crew off on his fingers. "Let me see, there's the captain, the lads, our pilot..." 

Beorn's eyes drifted past Bilbo's shoulder and beyond. Following Beorn's gaze, Bilbo then let out a small sigh. 

"Gandalf."

"And we have our chef, Bombur - marvelously talented chap. Bifur and Bofur..."

"Gandalf."

"Balin, my good friend Bilbo here, and myself. Which makes-"

"Sixteen?" finished Beorn. 

"Quite," said Gandalf. "All of unimpeachable character and reputation."

"They look like a bunch of miscreants and mercenaries, if you ask me," said Beorn. 

_"_ Well, I wouldn't go quite that far. I mean, they can be a little  _rowdy_  on occasion, but they're really quite well-behav-"

" _Gandalf_!" Bilbo hissed. 

"What? Oh.  _Oh._ " 

Behind them, the crew approached, looking concernedly from Gandalf to the still-present shotgun. To his credit, Gandalf rallied and put on his most winning smile. "And this is them now."

Making the requiste introductions took some time, during which Beorn glared at each and every one of the crew in turn. There was a long and uncomfortable silence when Gandalf had finished. The ball, such as it was, was in Beorn's court, but he just kept glowering at them. 

A flicker of movement caught Bilbo's eye and he watched as an enormous, fluffy tabby cat trotted over, oblivious to the air of tension. It walked up and down the row of the crew, rubbing its head against their shins until it finally came to rest by Dwalin's feet. 

The pair regarded each other for a moment and then the cat stretched up and placed both front paws on Dwalin's thigh. In an unexpectedly practiced move, Dwalin bent down and picked the cat up, lifting it to drape over his shoulder. 

Beorn lowered his shotgun and something akin to a smirk flickered across his face. "If Ursula likes you, that's good enough for me. Come in."

As the crew followed Beorn into his house, Bilbo looked over to Dwalin. Ursula was now nuzzling his beard and purring like a washing machine. Dwalin glared back, daring Bilbo to make a comment. Bilbo quickened his step and hurried after Gandalf. 

 

Beorn's house, in keeping with the surroundings and supplies available to him, was made entirely from scrap. The doorway, a service hatch from an old warship, had been welded onto the front of an old hanger. Onto this central structure, Beorn had attached cabins and rooms and instruments from a collection of different vessels to form a home. Bathroom, kitchen, several bedrooms, and even a computer room of sorts; they were all there. But what  _really_  impressed Bilbo was the greenhouse, made from an old cockpit, and its impressive crop of tomatoes. As a structure it wasn't elegant, it wasn't even particularly attractive, but it was functional and had an air of homeliness.

In a short amount of time, Beorn had emptied the contents of his pantry onto the long table in the middle of house. Cheeses, milk, fruits and vegetables, honey and fresh bread. Simple, but after eating space rations for more days than Bilbo cared to count, it seemed like ambrosia. 

After all the plates had been emptied, Beorn poured himself a large tankard of beer and cleared his throat. The crew quietened, waiting to see what their host had to say. 

"I don't care who you are, or where you are going, but you've brought trouble onto my doorstep. I don't like trouble." Beorn paused, staring down into his mug. "But if your trouble is with Orcs, I will do what I can you help you. The galaxy would be safer without those foul creatures in it," he spat.

"You've come across them before then?" asked Thorin. 

"Aye, hence the guns. Once this yard had thirty families living and working here. Now, there is only me."

"I'm sorry," said Bilbo sympathetically. 

"That is past," Beorn said with a shrug. "You have work to do, yes?"

"Aye," said Bofur. "'N plenty of it! What's t'going rate round here anyway?"

"I don't want payment. There are jobs around here that one man cannot do alone. So the deal is that I help you and you help me. Is this acceptable?"

Bofur looked to Thorin. Thorin looked to Gandalf, who blinked serenely back. "We have a deal," answered Thorin and he reached out to shake Beorn's hand. 

In a flurry of activity, Beorn doled out jobs to those who would otherwise be unoccupied whilst the ship was being fixed. Bilbo and Ori were initially tasked with painting a fence, but after taking one look at Beorn's out-dated computer systems, insisted they update it for him. A challenge, but it kept them from painting fences for a week and half so Bilbo didn't complain  _too_  much. 

 

***************

 

For Fili, the worst part about getting shot wasn't the pain (although that admittedly was pretty awful), it wasn't even the itching as the wound healed. No. It was Kili's  _mothering._  Kili hardly let him out of his sight. He refused to let Fili stand up for more than five minutes at a time and wouldn't let him do  _anything,_  even though Oin had said he was fine to get up and help out a little as long as it wasn't too strenuous. Kili was constantly asking Fili if he was okay. And if one more pillow was lovingly fluffed in Fili's direction, he was fully prepared to lovingly ram it down his brother's throat. 

Thorin's situation was no better, but from what he'd been told, Thorin had exhibited that famous Oakenshield Death Wish trait. He deserved it. Fili did not. 

He was  _generously_  allowed to sit outside in the sunshine whilst Kili fixed panels on the outside of the ship. Apparently, his brother had been harbouring a latent talent for welding. Fili idly pulled up strands of grass as he tried to stave off boredom. Cleaning his guns was out - Kili would have a conniption. He felt too restless to concentrate on reading. Which left going to find someone else to talk to. The problem was though, that everyone else was busy. Well, everyone except Thorin was busy. Fili didn't fancy his uncle's company; he was still annoyed at him for the stunt he'd pulled and Thorin was even more cantankerous than usual now he was off the pain meds. 

Oin and Dori would fuss. Ori and Bilbo were doing computery things that he didn't understand. Dwalin and Balin would talk to him, but they'd only try and turn it into a lesson of some kind. Gloin and Nori would rat him out to Kili just to see him squirm. Gandalf was an unknown. As was Beorn. That left Bifur, Bombur, Bofur and Felix. It had potential, but with the way they'd been lately, it was fifty-fifty that he'd either a comfy seat and a chat, or a spanner thrown at his head. He decided to chance it.

He watched Kili move round the top of the ship until he was out of his line of sight and made his move. Slowly, Fili shuffled back towards the ship and made his way up to the engine room. As he got closer, he heard muffled conversation and laughter. Yeah, this was  _definitely_  the right choice. 

"Am I alright to hide in here for a bit?" Fili said, sticking his head round the door. 

"Aye, lad!" said Bofur, leaning casually against the engine with Bifur lying half under the casing by his feet. "Take a seat with Bombur." 

Fili picked his way across the mess of tools, wires and cables and sat on a stack of boxes in the corner of the room, mostly out of the way. 

"You've escaped then?" asked Bombur. 

"Finally," sighed Fili. "He's playing with that blowtorch again. Should keep him occupied for a little while yet."

"Don' be so hard on him," said Bofur. "He worries. That's what family does."

"You  _did_  get shot," supplied Bombur. 

"Thanks for reminding me."

"Maybe this'll teach you to not do it again," called Felix from somewhere under the engine. Fili leaned to one side; all he could see were a pair of boots sticking out.

Bofur nodded. "Ain't no one who likes a corpsified sibling."

"That depends on how annoying they are," muttered Bombur. Bofur, holding an armful of tools for Bifur, could only shoot him the evils. 

"How are the repairs going?" said Fili suppressing a chuckle.

"They're just finishing up rewiring the engine now..." said Bombur.

"'N it's been like tryin' t'thread wet spaghetti up a cat's arse," interrupted Bofur. 

 "... then we're going to turn her on and see if she's happy," he finished. 

"So... Nearly ready to leave then?"

"Couple of days at most," answered Bofur. Bifur slapped at Bofur's legs and signed something. "He says she's ready."

Handing the tools over to Fili, Bofur bent down to help his cousin up. On the other side of the casing, Felix bobbed into view and gave Fili a wave.  

"You do the honours,  _mèimei."_   Bofur waved pompously towards the jump lever. 

With a massive grin, Felix leaned her bodyweight against it and pushed. The crank shifted down and the engine kicked into life, glowing brightly. The five of them cheered. 

"Atta girl." Felix patted the casing proudly. 

"And with that, I'm going to start on a celebratory lunch," said Bombur as he stood and ambled off in the direction of the kitchen. 

"This calls for a drink!" Bofur announced. "I've a bottle o'whisky under me bed I've been savin' for such an occasion. C'mon, Bifur, you can carry the glasses."

As he passed, Bifur gave Fili the Verse's most conspicuous wink. Fili groaned internally. Apparently, he hadn't been as subtle as he'd thought. Luckily, Felix didn't notice the wink; she was too busy cooing over the ship. 

"I can't wait to get her up in the air again. It's been  _years_  since I've stayed on a planet this long. I'm going land-crazy. And she's running like a dream, I bet we can get a mite more speed out of her now as well. This is the best day I've had in  _months._.."

Dumping a spanner in the tool box next to Fili, she started to wind up a stray cable round her forearm, still talking at a mile a minute. Her hair was a mess, she had a plaster wrapped around one finger and a giant smear of grease on one side of her face, but she radiated warmth and happiness.  _Shit, she's beautiful_ , thought Fili absently. 

Felix stopped her winding. "What?"

"Hmm?" replied Fili. 

"You're looking at me like I'm doing something funny."

Momentarily stumped, he panicked and said, "You've got oil... On your face."

With a frustrated sigh, Felix tried to wipe it off. Hands tangled in cables, this was fairly unsuccessful. 

"I got it," Fili offered, never being one to ignore an opportunity when it arose. 

"Thanks," said Felix. "There's a cloth on the... oh."

Fili brushed his thumb along her cheek, getting most of the grease on himself instead. Felix gave him a small smile and leaned in to his touch and his heart started beating double time when she brushed her lips against his palm. 

He was just about to bend down to kiss her, but the clattering of footsteps in corridor made them both jump apart. Fili span round to see who it was.  _Kili._  Of  _course_. 

"There you are!" he said breathlessly. "I've been looking for you everywhere. It's lunchtime, come on!"

He disappeared up the corridor. Fili turned back to Felix and they shared a rueful smile. The moment was gone.

"Go on," she said. "I'll catch up."

Fili followed after his brother. He'd be willing to bet that Kili had done that on purpose. Fili looked forward to the day he could repay his darling brother back in kind, but for the time being decided to just be as difficult as possible. The little bastard deserved it. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chinese:  
>  _Dìdì_ \- Little brother  
>  _Goushî_ \- Shit  
>  _Mèimei_ \- Little sister
> 
> Fili is going to be such a shit to Kili now. I almost feel sorry for him.  
> Hope you guys enjoy this belated update. Thanks for reading, kudosing and commenting. Stay shiny!


	13. The Dying of the Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I keep on running but I can't get to the mountain,_   
>  _Behind me lie the years that I've misspent,_   
>  _And I've been sinking like a flower in a fountain,_   
>  _When all the love I'm gonna need is heaven sent_
> 
> The Dying of Light by Noel Gallagher's High Flying Birds

  
_BEEP-BEEP BEEP-BEEP_

  
Thorin sighed resignedly and closed the book he was reading. Grunting as his stitches tugged, he climbed up the ladder from his quarters to the main corridor, muttering to himself.

"Can't get five minutes peace in this place...bloody alarms going off at every given opportunity... if it's not the proximity sensor, it's the fuel cells, when it's not that, it's the air filtration..." Glancing up at the bridge he saw a familiar head of curls frantically pressing buttons. "FELIX!" he bellowed, marching his way up, Dwalin and Balin not far behind, "is your ship trying to kill us again?"

"Uhh..."

Thorin peered over her shoulder at the dash. One of the screens flashed up a message that read 'Navigation error. Please re-set co-ordinates.'

"Explain," he ordered, massaging in between his eyes. "Using small words."

"Glitch in the nav system. Basically the ship doesn't know where we are."

"So we're lost?" asked Thorin.

"No," she replied. " _I_ know where we are. It's _her_ that doesn't." Felix levelled a scathing look at the console.

"Can we make do wi'out?" said Dwalin.

"I mean, technically? I can plot the course manually, but the margin for error is so tiny that -"

" _Felix_ ," Thorin said, cutting her off before her ramble built momentum.

"If I get the calculations wrong, we could miss Esgaroth and never know it was there."

"Obviously that's not a risk we're willing to take," Thorin said and Felix visibly relaxed. "Can we fix it?"

"It'll take a while, but it's doable. Only..."

"Yes?"

"We'll need to land first."

"Oh dear," murmured Balin.

As Orcs had been sighted prowling round the edges of the Rhovanion system, they'd decided that the best course was to make a straight shot through the middle. They'd changed the ship's pulse beacon, making it look like a Carthorse Cargo Ship, rather than a Firefly. Highly illegal, but it meant when they appeared on Alliance radar, they were roundly ignored. And they'd made sure no one ever got close enough to ID them properly.

Unfortunately, the middle of Rhovanion was also deep Alliance territory. Hell, Lothlorien was the headquarters for Alliance military command. If that was the closest planet, they were bound to get pinched as soon as they took even a sniff of the air.

"Where?" said Thorin, expecting the worst.

"Mirkwood. I can see it well enough now to get us there."

He grimaced. Better than 'Lorien, but only slightly.

"Fine. But you're telling the crew."

"Aww, c'mon!" Felix whined.

"It's your ship!" retorted Thorin, heading towards the common areas to round the crew up for this latest piece of bad news.

 

A few minutes later, the crew had gathered round the table, looking less than impressed. Thorin couldn't say he blamed them. Things had been looking up after they'd left Carrock and just over a week later they were getting more bad news.

"... so we're going to have to land," Felix finished.

"Where?" asked Dori.

"Mirkwood."

The crew groaned.

"Surely it can't be that bad?" asked Bilbo. Thorin, forgetting, looked at him incredulously. They made eye contact and that cringing embarrassment that'd Thorin'd been feeling every time he was near Bilbo reappeared. Next time Thorin got shot, he was going to make sure Oin put him under... save the Verse from his mindless witterings.

"What do you know about Mirkwood?" said Nori.

"Precious little. It's a mining planet, isn't it?"

"Aye, lad," answered Balin. "It's tidally locked to the star Rhovan, so it doesn't rotate on its orbit. One half is barren, scorched earth. Not a thing can live there. The other side is in a permanent state of darkness-"

"Hence _Mirk_ wood," interrupted Bilbo.

Balin nodded. "The dark side is the liveable side. But only just. It's extremely cold on the surface, so the miners dug down. As luck would have it, they found a wealth of minerals and ore. Since then, an entire city has been built underground."

"Sounds awful," Bilbo said. Of course a life underground wouldn't appeal to him, thought Thorin. The man lived for gardening.

"S'good money in it," countered Felix. "As long as you don't mind working for that lunatic."

"You mean Thranduil?"

"Man's a crackpot," said Dwalin darkly. "They all are down there... S'not natural, what they do t'themselves."

Gandalf folded his arms and sighed. "There's no need to be quite so dramatic, my dear fellow. Dwalin is referring," Gandalf explained to a confused Bilbo, "to the trend for bio-modification amongst Thranduil's people. It seems perfectly sensible to me to want to be able to see in the dark if one should live on Mirkwood. Still, we should be careful. Thranduil is erratic and views incursions into his territory very poorly. He may think you spies... or worse: thieves. But we should be fine provided we spent as little time as possible on the surface. We shall need to land close to the terminator of course -"

"The _where_?" interrupted Kili.

"The terminator; the line between the day side and the night side of Mirkwood. It will be harder for his sensors to detect us there. We do run the risk of-"

Gandalf was interrupted again, this time by the insistent beeping of his portable screen. Ignoring the rest of the group, Gandalf tapped the it and read whatever message he'd just received. By the way his expression fell, Thorin assumed it was not good news.

"I shall have to leave. Immediately."

" _What?!_ " exclaimed Thorin.

"Something has come up."

"Something more pressin' than this?" yelled Bofur.

"Yes," replied Gandalf, stoney-faced. "I shall take the shuttle. You'll be fine as long as you don't spend too long on Mirkwood's surface. I shall rendezvous with you in Dale. _Do not_ go to Erebor without me."

With no other explanation, Gandalf rose from his seat and swept out of the common area. Perplexed, the crew watched him go.

"I thought he was supposed to be helping us?" said Bilbo to no one in particular.

"People like Gandalf have their own agendas," Thorin said grudgingly. "We can manage without him for a while. Felix, how long till landfall?"

"Hour or so."

"In that case, I want everyone else except Fili, Dwalin and Balin armed and in the cargo bay in forty minutes. You three, on the bridge with me."

"Are we expecting trouble, uncle?" asked Kili with poorly concealed glee.

"No. But I mean to be ready for it all the same. Felix, prep for landing and whatever else needs doing. I want us to spend as little time as possible with our feet on the ground, _dông ma_?"

"Sure thing, Cap'n."

"Get to it then," ordered Thorin.

The crew scattered about their tasks. Thorin stood and watched Bilbo's retreating back, contemplating whether he should call him back and have a much needed chat. He decided against it; that could wait until after they'd left the planet ruled by one of Thorin's worst enemies.

 

<< _Landing in ten_ ,>> Felix's voice crackled over the comms.

Trussed up in two jumpers and his woolen coat slung over his shoulder, Thorin made his way up to the bridge. The glaring light coming from the window made him wince.

"I thought we were landing on the dark side of the planet," he muttered as he sat in the co-pilot's chair.

"We are, Cap'n, but I gotta scoot round this side to avoid blazing a trail across Thranduil's sensor arrays. None on this side, you see. It's way too hot."

"How hot are we talking?" asked Dwalin nervously.

"520 Kelvin," answered Felix nonchalantly. "Enough to cook us in if we break atmo here, put it that way."

Sobered by that unpleasant notion, no one spoke as the _Mercator_ changed her course to match the line of twilight that bisected the planet. The ship juddered and shook slightly as she fought against the atmospheric resistance.

"I'm gonna put her over there," announced Felix when the shaking finally stopped. She gestured to a point not far away from the line - the termination, Gandalf had called it. Thorin nodded. Hopefully, being closer to the sun meant they would also be a little warmer as well.

The surface of Mirkwood was barren, with baked dust and rock slowly leeching into grey twilight and then blackness. Felix landed the ship gently in the middle of a canyon, reasoning it would further help them avoid detection. They left Felix to work whatever arcane astromathematics she needed to do to get the ship to remember where it was and assembled with the rest of the crew in the cargo bay. Gloin opened the doors and the crew were hit with an icy blast of air.

Thorin organised the grumbling group into patrols; one to remain with the ship and guard the doors, and two others to scout each end of the canyon. As far as they could tell, the Orcs hadn't caught their scent again, but it never hurt to be cautious.

His own patrol comprised of Fili, Kili, Dwalin and Bilbo. Dwalin had given him an odd look when he'd made that call. But Bilbo was much more than his initial appearance had suggested, and Thorin would happily testify as to Bilbo's marksmanship under pressure. It had, after all, saved Thorin's life. And embarrassing as it was to be around Bilbo, Thorin wanted to keep an eye on him. For purely professional reasons, of course.  
Orcrist rifle tucked under his arm, Thorin headed the group as they walked away from the warmth and light of the ship and into the darkness. There was precious little light to see by - the sun only a faint glimmer on the horizon - and their torch beams flickered across the rock walls.

They walked for a while in silence and heard only the crunch of pebbles underneath their feet. His nephews, incapable of keeping quiet for long, started up a whispered conversation behind him that echoed. It was better than the eerie quiet, so Thorin ignored it.

"It's rather - rather chilly, isn't it?" said a stuttery voice at Thorin's elbow. Thorin smiled at Bilbo's mastery of understatement; it was colder than the Devil's soul.

"Eternal darkness does have that effect, yes," he replied dryly.

"H-how far are we intending to walk?"

"Just to this bend," said Thorin, gesturing to a twist in the path ahead. "We've gone far enough and I don't want to lose sight of the ship."

They stopped, looking back to see how far they'd come. The _Mercator_ lay a few thousand feet away, lit up like a Durin's Day decoration. Thorin could just about make out the figures of Bofur and Bombur pacing to and fro across the doorway, trying to keep warm.

"We'll jus go on t'check," said Dwalin quietly as he herded Fili and Kili - still chattering - past.

"She looks rather pretty from here," mused Bilbo. "All homey and inviting, not at all like the _Rivendell_."

"She does have character, I'll give you that," agreed Thorin. "Also a sort of sociopathic-ness about her too..."

Bilbo snorted in amusement. Gazing down at Bilbo, Thorin was hit in the gut by the sudden feeling that it was now or never.

"Bilbo," he said softly. Bilbo looked up, startled at the sudden change in Thorin's voice. "I-"

" _UNCLE_!" bawled Kili from further up the path.

" _Suoyou de dōu shidāng_ ," Thorin cursed, then flinched as the sound of gunfire rattled towards him. He pulled out his radio from his coat pocket. "We got colour. Back to the ship. Felix?"

<<Almost done!>>

"Bilbo, go." He didn't move, only took a firmer grip of his pistol. _"GO!"_ Thorin barked again and this time, Bilbo shot off, sprinting back to the ship.

Shouldering his rifle, Thorin ran up to where Dwalin and his nephews were hunkered down behind a rock.

"Who is it? Thranduil's?"

"No," replied Dwalin. "Looks like bandits t'me. Them firearms are ancient." The four of them ducked back as their cover was peppered with machine gun spray.

"They still work though!" Fili yelled as he reloaded his shotguns.

In contrast to his brother, Kili was calmly affixing a thermal scope onto his beloved rifle.

"What do you need?" asked Thorin.

"Targets, covering fire and a distraction," said Kili.

With a wave of his fingers, Thorin signaled to Dwalin and then the pair sprinted across the path, sliding into cover behind an outcrop.

"Ready?"

"Aye," replied Dwalin with a grin. "S'just like Ered Mithrin again."

"Try not to get shot this time, old man," quipped Thorin.

Then, with a roar, the pair of them rose out of cover and unleashed a barrage of gun fire on the bandits and their vehicles. Kili's rifle cracked, whip-sharp, and one by one, their assailants dropped to the ground.

"There's more coming!" called out Kili.

Fili caught Thorin's eye and waggled a grenade questioningly. Thorin nodded and Fili pulled out the pin, stood, and threw it in an impressive overarm. Three seconds later, a massive explosion lit up the sky and the four of them broke cover and ran, full tilt, back to the _Mercator._

_< <It's done!>>_ said Felix as they jogged the last few feet to the cargo ramp.

"Prep for launch!" Thorin ordered.

_< <You might wanna come and take a look at this first, Cap'n.>>_

Thorin's heart sank and he sprinted up the stairs to the bridge: Azog had found them again.

For a second, he thought that the blinding light coming through the windows was the sun but then it shifted. Floodlights. Attached to three sharp, mean-looking fighter vessels. Two more shot overhead in pursuit of the bandits.

_< <Surrender immediately, we have weapons lock on your ship. Do not think we won't fire,>>_ said a voice over the comms. Not Azog. Arguably worse than Azog. _< <Come out of the ship with your hands on your head.>>_

Slinging his rifle over his shoulder, Thorin trudged down to the cargo bay. The crew were already waiting for him.

"Sorry, Cap'n," Felix muttered dejectedly as she passed. He gave her a sympathetic look in reply.

Sympathy quickly turned into cold loathing when their captors appeared.

A group of soldiers, all dressed in black combat gear, surrounded the crew and aimed their weapons at them. Slowly, Thorin pulled his own pistols out of their holsters and dropped them to the floor. He unshouldered the Orcrist next, laid it down by his feet and placed his hands behind his head.

Behind him, the rest of the crew followed suit. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Ori throwing his bow to the ground with such vehemence that the approaching soldier took a step back. Thorin gave Ori an approving nod.

The muzzle of a rifle was suddenly waved in front of Thorin’s face and his eyes followed up the length of the barrel to meet those of its owner. It was a young man, tall, ice-white hair. He looked too polished, too neat to be a soldier. One of their number called to him, and the man’s eyes flickered from Thorin’s face for a moment. They caught the dim light, reflecting it back as green iridescence. The boy was one of Thranduil’s people, for sure.

“Where did you get that?” he demanded, gesturing down to the Orcrist at Thorin’s feet.

“I found it,” he replied. It was _technically_ true.

“ _Liar_ ,” spat the boy. “This is classified technology. One of eight. Five lie safely in our vault. The other three are missing. Give it to me!”

Bending down to pick up the rifle, Thorin briefly contemplated hitting the cocky little shit with it, but then passed it over, as much as it pained him to do so.

The lad looked at the Orcrist appreciatively and then hooked an arm through the strap. He moved away and began talking to a young woman. They spoke in low voices, casting the occasional glance over at the crew.

“Tie them up,” he ordered eventually. “We’ll see what my father makes of them.”

Ah. The penny hit Thorin squarely between the eyes with a resounding clang. Thranduil’s son. With that hair and that attitude, Thorin was surprised he’d not made the connection sooner.

 

The crew were searched, secured with plastic cuffs, split up and shoved onto the Mirkwood transports. Thorin had no idea where they were being taken, only the vague sensation that they were descending slowly.

After ransacking it, Thranduil’s goons had decided the _Mercator_ was outdated _fèi wù_ , and had left it to rust. Felix had looked close to leaping up and damn near nutting the one that had said that.  
Thorin could only pray that Bilbo and Ori had been sensible enough to encrypt their research. They hadn’t been put in the same ships, so Thorin had no way of knowing if the lad and his friends had found the data.

With a bump, the personnel transport landed. The doors opened and Thorin and the rest were pushed out into a large hangar.

Thorin counted at least fifty of the type of transports that had picked them up, and didn’t doubt that there were more stashed in similar bays across the planet. He had no idea what to call them; he’d never seen a ship of their design before. Painted matte black and with angular body panels, they were built for stealth: Thranduil’s black ops.

The rest of the crew emerged from the other ships and, out of habit, Thorin counted and took stock of any injuries. It was then that he realised that Bilbo was not with them. He caught Bofur’s eye and cocked an eyebrow. Bofur only shrugged in reply. _Damn_. On the other hand, maybe the research would be safe after all.

They were frog-marched, single file, through a series of corridors cut straight into the rock. One looked much like another and it soon became apparent to Thorin that finding their way out would be next to impossible. They turned a corner and the passageway suddenly ended in a block of cells.

The lad, Thranduil’s kid, shoved Thorin unceremoniously through one of the doorways and sealed the plexi bars behind him.

Like most of the Mirkwood complex, his cell had been laser-carved from the rock under his feet. He’d been in worse. At least he had this one to himself. And it had blankets and bars, instead of a solid door. Electronic lock though, Thorin noted. No chance of picking their way out.

If the complex lost power, they _might_ be able to escape. But that plan hinged on Thranduil being stupid enough not to have a back-up generator. Unlikely. No, for the time being, they were stuck.

***************

Over the last few months, Bilbo had realised that if Thorin Oakenshield tells one to run with that particular expression, it’s usually best if one runs.

Panting, Bilbo sprinted his way up to the bridge of the Mercator. Felix was hurriedly twisting wires and cursing under her breath.

Bilbo hovered behind her, hands itching to help.

“Are we…”

“Almost there.”

Felix typed a frenetic tattoo of numbers onto the keyboard. She slammed a button on the panel and, with a breathless grin, radioed Thorin,"It's done!"

On another screen, out of her eyeline, Bilbo noticed a series of small dots making their way determinedly towards a larger dot, which Bilbo assumed was the _Mercator_. 

“It appears we have company.”

“I know.”

“No, I mean other company.”

“ _WHAT?_ Oh, c’mon! We are so _wong dán_.”

“So that’d be Thranduil, then?”

“Yep.”

“Ah. I’ll just go and make sure Arkenstone is…”

And with that, Bilbo clattered off down the gangway towards the shuttle.

In short order, Bilbo had locked all the files. No one except he or Ori - and maybe a handful of experienced hackers - would be able to access them. Which left the paperwork. The mountains and _mountains_ of paperwork.  
All their calculations, codes, and notes which papered the space like haphazard wallpaper.

Bilbo stole a peek out of the windshield and saw a large black ship hanging above the nose of the _Mercator_. No time to lose. He made a vain attempt at trying to hide the most compromising of the notes, and even contemplated eating some of them. But there was just so much.

An announcement blared over the internal comms, making him jump. ‘Give yourselves up, blah blah blah.’

With a sudden fit of defiance, Bilbo decided he wasn’t going to do that. He slammed the door shut and activated the airlock.

Ear to the metal, he heard Thranduil’s ships landing and the distance calls of his people as they shouted at the crew.

There was silence for a little while, then he heard the tramp of boots outside the door. The handle wiggled and Bilbo panicked. He placed his palm over the door console and willed for the door to stay close.

_“It’s derelict, it’s derelict, it’s derelict,”_ he chanted in a whisper.

“Door won’t budge,” said a voice from the other side. “Air-lock is engaged and the manifest says a micro-asteroid compromised the hull.”

Bilbo breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

“Run a scan, just to be on the safe side,” said another voice.

Oh dear.

Bilbo quietly addressed the ship, eyes still resolutely closed against the second sight the chip seemed to bring. “Listen to me, you glorified excuse for a caravan, if you have any love for your crew _whatsoever_ , please don’t let them find me. I’m the only one who can save them at this point.”

There was no response, of course. At least, no tangible one, save Bilbo’s vague impression that he’d been _heard_.

“Nothin’, Captain. Skiff’s empty.”

Bilbo remained where he was, frozen in place, until he heard Thranduil’s ships begin to move off.

Then he exploded into action. Taking a seat, he powered up the shuttle and grabbed the control stick with one hand. The other he placed on the dash and his vision shifted again.

The shuttle lit up in a blazing warren of blue lines. If he concentrated on a fixed point out of the window, it made the whole experience much less nauseating.

“ _Right_ ”, he said, half to himself and half to the ship, “we’re going to take this nice and slow. We’re going to follow behind in their heat wake. We’re not going to show up on their radar. Then we’re going to sneak off somewhere and land before they see us and we get shot. Is that clear?”

A series of small pulses radiated from Bilbo’s hand and dispersed around the ship’s circuitry. He felt the clanking of machinery as the shuttle disengaged from the _Mercator_. Slowly, he pulled back on the stick and the shuttle rose haltingly into the air. This was much harder than Felix made it look, even whilst being to telepathically communicate his demands.

Taking a chance, he accelerated quickly and snuck in behind the last ship. The thermals generated from its jets made the skiff wobble violently and Bilbo fought to keep it airborne. Suddenly, the ship ahead dived down a crevice in the planet’s surface, as quick as a rabbit.

Bilbo narrowly slipped through a large set of closing doors, leaving inches to spare.

He backed off on the accelerator, allowing the skiff to slip back into the darkness of the tunnel. It was almost pitch-black, the sides of the tunnel marked at intervals by dim red torches. Ahead, he could see the lights of the other ships slowly disappearing.

In the dark, the realities of the situation suddenly set in. In a move that best described as the height of idiocy, Bilbo’d flown into an enemy stronghold in a shuttle he was piloting mostly with his mind and had no idea where to park the damn thing without it being found by Thranduil’s people.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” he muttered, eyes straining to find a decent spot to hide.

Finally, he saw somewhere: a niche cut into the rock face that looked like had been an aborted attempt at a tunnel. It appeared big enough at least. Bilbo landed with a bump, and almost bit into his tongue as he did.

Terrified of leaving all his research in such an obvious and vulnerable place, he crossed the tunnel and hid the files underneath a large rock, scorching it with his pistol so he’d remember which one it was.

The computerised data he downloaded onto a spare data tab, picked a hole in the lining of his waistcoat and stashed it in there. Paper thin, no one would notice the tab if they caught and searched him. He hoped.

Bilbo set off down the tunnel, walking with only the sinister red lights as a guide. First thing was first, he needed a computer terminal if he had any hope of rescuing the crew. He marveled, probably not for the last time, on Thorin’s ability to attract trouble. It was almost as though he did it on purpose…

***************

 

Not an hour had passed by Thorin’s reckoning, when Thranduil’s lad came back to retrieve him from his cell. His hands were tied again and he was marched at gunpoint through the complex.

Thorin tried to concentrate on where he was going, but the rifle point - _his_ rifle, no less - that occasionally prodded his back did not help.

After a lift, a long, vertigo-inducing gangway, and more twists and turns than he could keep track of, Thorin was guided into an expansive, wood-panelled office that reminded him briefly of Bag End.

There was a very small number of people that Thorin hated. Plenty he didn’t like, but few he deep-down despised. Thranduil was definitely up there in the hate pile. He’d been the most vocal, the most vociferous of his people’s detractors. It had been his veto that had denied them the military aid they had needed to reclaim Erebor. Thorin would _dearly_ have loved to plant his fist in the smug bastard’s face, but, as his hands were bound, he settled for leveling his very worst look at him.

“Thorin Oakenshield, what an unexpected pleasure.”

“Thranduil,” he replied curtly.

“I was surprised to hear that _you_ were leading this band of trespassers…”

Thranduil trailed off, hoping that Thorin would respond. He did not. Only glared with added vitriol.

“My son, Legolas,” Thranduil continued, gesturing to lad now leaning against the wall, “tells me that you were found carrying a particular weapon. A weapon, which I’m sure you are aware, is a top-secret prototype. Where ever did you get it?”

Thorin, again, said nothing.

“It’s not hard to guess why you would be this deep in Alliance territory. You and your collection of degenerates are trying to retake Erebor, aren’t you?”

Thranduil tapped his long fingers on the arm of his chair whilst he stared impassively into Thorin’s face. With a slight tilt of his head, the light on his face shifted and his eyes reflected an eerie green glow. Thorin looked away, unnerved.

“Or perhaps you’ve come for a more perfidious purpose? You’re already toting round our hardware like some second-hand Rim _goushî_. Why not add to your collection. I could have you shot for treason, you know…”

“It’s not treason if it’s not _my_ government,” snapped Thorin.

“Ah-ha,” Thranduil crowed triumphantly. “He speaks! Your government or not, the rest of them do not know you’re here. Of course I shall have to tell them. Eventually. But the message may end up being incorrectly _prioritised._ ”

“Speak plainly, Thranduil. I’ve heard enough weasel words from you to last two lifetimes.”

Over in the corner of the room, Legolas bristled at the insult. Thranduil lazily waved a finger and his son receded back into the shadows.

“As I said, I’m obliged to report your presence and hand you over to the federal authorities. However, I can arrange for an ‘escape’, leaving you free to carry on your way to Erebor.”

“Why would you do this?”

“Before Erebor was destroyed, Thrain was working on some blueprints for me that would prove extremely valuable to my people. I propose the plans in exchange for your freedom.”

Thranduil sat back in his chair, smiling unctuously. It was the final spark that set the blue touchpaper alight.

“After everything you have done to us, you _actually_ think you can buy my people’s hard work?! The Alliance could have helped - _you_ could have helped - when we needed it most, but now we have something you want, you want to make a deal?! You have less humanity than the Orcs, you _gou niang yang de!_ ”

Thorin could no longer contain his anger and lunged across the desk to try and at least get a couple of caged again. Or shot.

Legolas, freakishly fast for a human, intercepted Thorin and knocked him to the ground. He was hauled to his feet and dragged, still bellowing profanities, out of Thranduil’s office.

“I do what’s right by my people, same as you,” Thranduil called after him, “The rest is just business.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chinese:  
>  _Dông ma?_ \- Understood?  
>  _Suoyou de dōu shidāng_ \- By all that's proper  
>  _Fèi wù_ \- Junk  
>  _Wong dán_ \- Literally 'cooked egg'. We're screwed.  
>  _Goushî_ \- Shit  
>  _Gou niang yang de!_ \- son of a bitch
> 
> If it's not already apparent, this chapter was heavily influenced by Pitch Black.  
> Well. Turns out Thorin _does_ remember after all. Ha.  
>  For reference, 520 Kelvin is 246 C or 476 F. Damn hot, basically. Tidally locked planets are a whole mess of fun.  
> Thanks for reading, kudosing and commenting. It means so much to us writery types.
> 
> Aim to misbehave, fellow Browncoats. X


	14. Chance It In The Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From Chance It In The Fire by Felix Hagan and the Family

As Kili was unceremoniously handcuffed and shoved into a transport shuttle, he reflected that their day probably could have gone better. He'd been expecting trouble - it was an occupational hazard in his family - but getting bushwhacked by a pack of back-of-beyond scavengers _and then_  getting pinched by Thranduil's strike team? That one Kili _wouldn't_ have called. 

Sandwiched between a trembling Ori and an equally shaky Dori, and with no uncle or sibling in sight, Kili shouldered responsibility and started to formulate an escape plan. He began with examining the cuffs and then grinned to himself. Standard Alliance issue, which meant he could slip them within a minute; easy and a party trick that had earned him more than a few credits in the past. 

In an attempt to feign nonchalance, Kili looked around absently as he fidgeted. 

' _A little to twist to the left...and then a tug on the right... bend the thumb in and then...ah.'_

His wandering eyes had met those of one of Thranduil's soldiers and Kili stilled instantly. Her red hair was braided back from her face and under the dim blue lights of the transport, her fair skin seemed to glow, cold and silver. She reminded Kili of the myths of Varda from Earth-That-Was; the Star-Kindler, Maker of Worlds and Taker of No Shit. Although Kili was fairly sure that no star goddess carried an assault rifle, ancient or otherwise. Taker of No Shit seemed like an accurate descriptor nonetheless. 

She arched an eyebrow. "Where did you think you would go - exactly - having got out of those bonds?" she asked.

"This seat's a bit cramped," answered Kili, always the one to live dangerously. "Thought I might come and sit next to you."

He was rewarded with the ghost of a smirk and her green eyes flaring briefly in amusement. 

" _Wasalna taqreeban, ya ra'ess_ ," called the pilot from the cockpit. 

Schooling her face back into an impassive expression, she replied, " _Tamam. Aftah al-baab wa'akhbar al qa'id 'anduna as-sujana'._  And watch this one," she added to one of her underlings, gesturing at Kili. 

She stood and made her way up to the seat next to the pilot and Kili wistfully watched her go. One way or another, he was going to get an actual smile out of her before he escaped. 

 

Kili didn't seem much of his new friend when they landed. Definitely in a position of command, she stood in the shadows and bossed the others around. Kili was not ashamed to admit - to himself, at least - that this made her all the more interesting. 

As they were led down into the bowels of the planet, Kili sought both glimpses of the woman and for any avenues of possible escape. No dice. Thranduil had the place locked down tighter than a Core-worlder's arse. 

After a long and fruitless meander, Kili was shoved, alone, into a cell. He gave it a cursory once-over. Solid rock walls, so no hope of digging his way out. One plexi-glass wall, that Kili knew from experience would be unshatterable, formed the door with only a small, latched opening in the centre. And thumb-print panels to allow access. Short of a stick of dynamite, or, y'know, removing someone's _thumb_ , it would be impossible to break out. 

Kili flopped down onto the ledge that served as a bed, flung his arm over his eyes and set about waiting for either he or someone else to have a flash of genius. It was a process that, for Kili, mostly involved napping. 

Thorin left, grumpy and sullen, with a guard at one point and they return some time later. Thorin was less sullen than before. More sweary and angry. It was not an improvement. 

 

With the lighting system stuck on a perpetual 'Twilight' setting, Kili had no way to tell if it was night or day. Meals were delivered at regular enough intervals, so he started to use those to mark the time. He guess a couple of days had passed before he saw Her again. 

Most of the crew were asleep, judging from the snoring, and only Kili and the couple of the others were awake; he could faintly hear Dwalin pacing his cell further up the corridor and Bofur humming to himself across the way. 

Kili never could sleep properly in cells; he'd tried once, the first time he'd been picked up by Alliance Feds. He'd not been able to since. 

At the sound of footsteps outside his cell, he absently glanced up. Exhausted, he didn't register who it was until she'd already walked past. He scrambled upright and pressed his palms to the plexiglass. 

"Hey! Hey!"

In the murk, he saw her stop in her tracks and slowly come back towards him. 

"What do you want?"

"Any chance of sorting the lights out in here? It's too bright to sleep and too gorram dark to do anything else. It's alright for you lot, with your freaky gen-eng eyes and everything, but it's a pain in the _pigu_ for the rest of us."

The woman stepped back, struck by the vehemence in Kili's tone, and she turned on her heel to leave. 

"... they are pretty cool though," Kili conceded in a manner he hoped came across as apologetic. "How sensitive are they? Like, is this bright for you? Do you have to wear shades in the sun? Did it hurt?"

"I was born with them," she said. "If the lights were any brighter here, it would hurt my eyes. And I've never been in the sun, to do so would mean burning to death."

"No, I mean on other planets? Where is not 8 billion degrees or colder than hell?"

"I've never been off-world," she said, looking at her toes. "But I've seen pictures on the Coretex of the other worlds and I know my way to some of them... the ones we can see on this side of the planet at least."

"I can't astronavigate for shit. Too much maths. But if you stick me in the middle of nowhere, I can usually survive for a few days then find my way home. Mam says it's a homing instinct, but everyone else says it's just because I can smell her cooking."

The woman chuckled. "And what do you say?"

"I just know my way around, is all. Sometimes, I see a tree or a rock or something that looks familiar and I can just work my way back from there."

"I never seen a tree. Not a real one anyway."

" _Bìzuî!_  Never?!"

She shook her head. "They won't grow on the surface. We do have them in the greenhouses, but they are off-limits to most of us."

"That must be terrible," Kili mused aloud. "I can't imagine living here, with nothing growin' and just rocks and scavengers to look at."

"It's not so bad. When the sky is clear, you can see so many stars it feels like you're looking into forever. But the auroras are my favourite. The whole sky ripples with fire in greens and reds and blues. I used to sit for hours as a child, watching the lights dance across the sky. I still do, sometimes." She smiled wistfully. 

Once he'd committed that _smile_ to memory, Kili pondered this for a moment. A life without trees or blue sky or sunshine... it would drive him nutty. Space and all its wacky phenomena was cool and everything but, for Kili, it couldn't beat lazing in the grass on a summer's day. 

"I reckon your first tree is gonna blow your mind, then. Hey! If you're lucky, you might even be able to climb it!"

"Are they as green as they seem in the pictures?" she asked, eyes alight with curiosity.

"Sure! Greener, even. And not just that, they come in all kinds of colours. Especially in the autumn, before the leaves drop."

"Maybe one day..."

An alarm sounded in the distance and her manner became all-business once again. 

"I'll see about the lights for you," she said and went to turn away. 

"Wait! What's your name?"

"Tauriel."

"M'Kili."

She gave him a brief, gentle smile and then she disappeared into the gloom again. 

Kili sat back down on the cell's poor excuse for a bed and propped his head up in his hands. After some time sorting through the jumble of his thoughts, he came to a small epiphany, which was this: they were all just _folk_ , no matter where they came from. People, with their own hopes and dreams, trying to find beauty in whatever elbow of the Verse they ended up in and attempting to make the best of whatever hand they'd been dealt. Thorin and his mam, they'd been royally screwed over by Thranduil and the Alliance government - there was no denying that - but, given Kili's new revelation, hating an entire planet full of people on that basis seemed a little... pointless and, perhaps, _w_ _rong._

Kili wanted nothing more at that moment than to talk it out over a cup of tea with Bilbo. Or Gandalf. Or over a beer with Fili. It would have to wait, though, until they escaped. _If_  they escaped. 

 

***************

 

"Buggery buggering _buggerit_ ," Bilbo swore, as the barely functioning computer terminal flashed up yet another error message. He had to hand it to Thranduil's techies, they really knew their stuff. The system was nigh-on uncrackable. Even for him. 

He'd been wandering the tunnels for hours, dirty, dusty and completely lost. Bilbo had finally found what he'd been looking for in the old machine but it, its security protocols and a large metal door stood between Bilbo and the rest of the complex. Out of ideas and out of other options, Bilbo decided with great reluctance that it was time for Plan F. There was a small part of him that cautioned against using the chip with such reckless abandon. He didn't want to entertain the possibility, however remote, that it might somehow take over his mind and turn him into a sort of zombie-cyborg hybrid. 

Mustering his courage and his constitution, Bilbo hesitantly placed his hand to the computer's console. For a moment, nothing happened and Bilbo began to think that the chip had stopped working but then came the familiar lurch, and his vision was overlaid with a blaze of neon threads. He located the door controls almost immediately but, curious, he followed one of the threads leading off from it and it soon lead him to the main security hub for the _entire_  planet, like the centre of the spider's web. 

The data for the newest residents of Thranduil's cells didn't take all that long to uncover either; all fourteen were present and accounted for and Bilbo breathed a sigh of relief. However, springing them out looked to be more complicated than initially anticipated, as the cells operated on a closed circuit. Bilbo would have to be physically present to open each of the doors in turn, which rather scuppered his initial plan of letting them out remotely and guiding them up to the skiff whilst he hid in his quiet corner. Instead, he was going to have to go a-wandering. Not so easy, given that the minute he stepped through the door, his bio-signature would be read and registered as an intruder and he would be apprehended or shot on sight, depending on the whim of the guards. 

"Well, that's just not playing fair, is it?" Bilbo muttered. 

Still, he had ways and means and, with the tap of a finger, Mirkwood's official population increased by a number of one. Making a note of the best route, Bilbo triggered the door. It slid open and Bilbo paused for a second, wriggling his nose, then he stepped over the threshold. He waited, shoulders up by his ears, for an alarm to sound or the approach of soldiers, but when all he heard was silence he began to relax slightly.

The chip, it seemed, held sway over _everything_  electronic, not just ships. 

Slowly and nervously, Bilbo made his way into the complex, keeping an ear out for unwanted company and an eye out for opportune hiding spots. He may have been able to trick the security software, but it would be blatantly obvious to anyone who saw him that he was not supposed to be there. Especially considering the rather bedraggled state of his waistcoat. 

Judging by the schematics, Bilbo realised that he wasn't all that far from the mining quarter and an idea presented itself. And, after some consideration, that idea had begun to metamorphosize into the bare bones of a plan, complete with disguises. What _fun._

Bilbo slipped into the abandoned store cupboard and slid the door shut. It had taken him four and a half days to get everything in place - admittedly, most of that time had been spent dithering - but, at last, it was time. He scratched his neck; he was looking forward to getting out of his two-sizes-too-big, itchy, stolen mining overalls and putting on something more comfortable and less orange. Like his pyjamas. And maybe his slippers...

Wrenching himself with regret away from his train of thought, Bilbo took stock of the tiny space he'd been living and hiding in for the last few days. Any sign of habitation had been carefully removed; he'd wanted to leave no clues. Let the buggers wonder. 

After one last run-through of the plan, he patted his pockets, making sure he had everything, checked the lining of his waistcoat to see if the data stick was still there (it was), and gave the chip a prod for good measure. 

"You'd better not let me down today," he told it sternly. It, of course, did not reply. 

He zipped up his boiler suit all the way up to his neck, hiding his normal clothes. He resisted the urge to fidget as he made his way down the corridors. The key here, he'd realised, was looking like he knew where he was going. It meant people tended to ignore you. 

He'd stared at the route to the cells so much that it had become an after-image that was burned into his retinas and he'd begun to see it in his sleep. Left turn, left again, right by the chromite miners' quarters, down six flights of stairs - he avoided the lift, not wanting to risk forced chit-chat and his inevitable loss of calm. Then it was through a rock tunnel, a brief but tense wait in the section's electricity substation for the guards to change shift and then carefully, carefully past their quarters. 

As he rounded the corner to the cell's, Bilbo was greeted with an instantly recognisable sound; Bombur's snores. 

He laughed quietly with relief and then jumped as a shadow suddenly separated from its dark corner and moved into the dim light. 

"Bilbo?" said Thorin in quiet disbelief and the sight of him made Bilbo's heart constrict painfully. He had _missed_  him. 

He opened the hatch in the middle of the glass wall so Bilbo wouldn't have to talk loudly to make himself heard. "Hello, you," he whispered conversationally. 

"Where have you _been?"_

"Oh, around and about," replied Bilbo. "Just give me a few minutes and I'll have you all out of here before you can spit."

Whilst Bilbo set about locating the door controls and examining the locks, Thorin kept up a constant litany of questions near his ear. By now, the others had also noticed his presence and the corridor was filled with a low murmur. It was most distracting. 

"Are you ok? How did you escape? Where have you been hiding?"

" _Shh!_  They'll hear you!"

"Have you eaten? Did you find a way out? Or our weapons? If there are any unguarded areas, we could - _mmmph!_ "

The noise reached a crescendo and Bilbo's patience snapped. He did the only thing he could think of to shut Thorin up: he reached through the hatch, pulled Thorin close and kissed him. Firmly. 

" _Do_ shut up," Bilbo said as he broke away and return his attention to the lock. Thorin, slightly cross-eyed from shock, did as he was told. The rest of the crew must have seen as well, as they fell into a stunned silence. 

Ignoring the burning of his ears, Bilbo made the pretense of pressing buttons and fiddling with the electronics. In reality, the process was not as complicated, he simply placed the hand with the chip over each door's panel and willed it to open. 

As their doors opened, the crew filled the corridor, milling round aimlessly. 

"Come on then, we haven't got much time," said Bilbo with mild irritation. Meek as lambs, the crew - Thorin included - followed him with nary a protest or sarcastic remark. Obviously, Bilbo though wryly, the way to get things done was to shock the crew into compliance. 

They only finally began to protest when Bilbo led them down further into the planet, rather than up and out as they had been expecting. 

"Shut _up!"_  he hissed, glaring angrily at the main dissenters. "There are still guards about and I dare say it won't be long before they notice you're missing. Now, come on. It's not much farther."

No sooner had Bilbo turned away than an alarm began whining in some distant part of the complex, shouts echoing along with it. 

Bilbo cast his eyes ceiling-wards in resignation. He beckoned the crew on, urgency lending a little more speed to their footsteps. It wasn't long before Bilbo stopped them all before a rusted, old metal door, propped open with a small boulder. 

"Here we are," he announced, heaving the door open with a teeth-clenching screech. Beyond the threshold and out of the circle of light, there was nothing but a pile of rubble and inky blackness. 

"And where exactly is 'here'?" asked Balin, less than impressed. 

Bilbo wagged his finger under Balin's nose and, with a self-satisfied flourish, tugged on a piece of fabric lying on the ground, revealing one of the most decrepit mules most of them had ever seen. 

"What in the name of Mahal's third bollock is _that_?" exclaimed Nori. 

"It's a ship," said Bilbo, in the slow tone of explaining something very obvious to someone quite stupid. "This passage connects onto the main tunnel system, so we fly up there, get back on the skiff and then hop it back to the _Mercator_."

"Does this thing even fly?" said Bofur. 

"I think so."

"'You _think so'?!_ What do you mean 'you think so'?" yelped Dori. 

"I didn't really get chance and I was rather more distracted by not getting caught..."

In truth, Bilbo had been so excited to find such a lifeline that he'd clean forgotten to check whether it would actually work.

"Just get it started," ordered Thorin, cutting off any further complaints. 

Bilbo caught his eye and gave him a nod of thanks, to which Thorin responded by taking an interest in his boots. Bilbo wasn't sure why he'd expected anything different. 

After a couple of minutes of tinkering on Bifur's part - and swearing on Bofur's - along with a heavy-handed engineer's knock with a stray iron bar, the mule started with a throaty roar, illuminating the way ahead with its bright headlamps.

"Everyone on! Someone will have heard that," Dwalin yelled over the din. 

In the rush to fit everyone onboard the small craft, Fili and Kili somehow ended up driving and riding shotgun respectively. 

Felix shouted up from the back, "Shouldn't I be the-" but was silenced by Fili's heavy boot stamping down on the accelerator and lurching the craft forward. The general noises of protest were either not heard or were ignored by the brothers, who shared a grin. 

"Which way?" shouted Fili. He turned back to look for Bilbo's answer and scraped the side of the mule down the tunnel wall, sending up a shower of sparks and earning him a clip round the ear from Dwalin. 

"Mind yer surrounds!  _Sh_ _ǎguā!"_

"Just keep going straight," said Bilbo as loud as he could. It was not going _quite_  as smoothly as he had envisaged. But at least it was _going._  

The passage sloped gently upwards and ended where it joined onto the main trunk leading out of the facility. There were no side passages or offshoots that Bilbo had found on any map. Even _Thorin_  would be able to find his way out easily enough. 

They reached the end of the tiny passage with little trouble and red emergency lights illuminated the rest of the way. Bilbo focused on them blinking by in an effort to ignore the elbows and knees jammed into various parts of his anatomy and the oppressive heat thrown off by the mule's ancient engine. 

"Company on our tail!" bellowed Gloin. 

Behind them, Bilbo caught sight of lights fast approaching. 

"Do we have any grenades?" asked Kili. 

"Does it _look_ like we have any?" his uncle shot back. 

Bilbo counted four maintenance niches, lit in green, before prodding Fili in the back of the head. "We're almost at the skiff!"

"I see it!" called Kili, pointing into the gloom. Damn, the lad had good eyes. 

The sight of his scorch mark on the wall ahead had Bilbo leaping out of the mule before it had even stopped. 

"Bilbo! Get back here!" shouted Thorin. 

"Just a minute!" he said. "I know I left it round here somewhere..." he murmured as he scrabbled through the pile of rocks. 

His fingers found paper and he prised the cache from its hiding place. 

"Got it!"

He waved the notes triumphantly over his head at the crew, only to catch the flash and arc of a rocket fired from their pursuers. Bilbo ducked instinctively as it overshot the mule and slammed into the wall ahead. The blast knocked Bilbo to the ground and he was pelted with a painfull hail of sharp stones. He curled up under the onslaught, cradling the notes to his chest.

"Baggins! Baggins!" Bilbo heard distant shouting over the ringing in his ears and opened his eyes to find himself almost nose-to-nose with Dwalin. 

"He's alive," he called over his shoulder. 

"Get him back here then!"

"Up ye get, lad," he said as he roughly hauled Bilbo to his feet.

Dwalin propelled him back towards the waiting mule and heaved Bilbo up into the waiting arms of Bombur and Oin, pulling himself up after.

"Go!" he yelled and the mule lurched forward once again as Fili slammed down on the accelerator.

"But - the skiff..."

"Cave in," said Bofur. "It's gone!" 

Ah. There went part two of his seemingly fool-proof plan. Bilbo checked the bundle of papers in his arm; they were covered in dust and smeared with black in parts but otherwise unscathed. The same could equally be said for the crew. 

A square of tiny lights in the distance marked the main doors. 

"Please tell me you have some cunnin' plan to get them buggers to open?" asked Bofur. 

"I thought I'd just wait for them to let us out actually," snipped Bilbo. "Here," he handed the notes over to Ori, "take these. Do _not_  let them out of your sight."

The mule juddered to a halt and Bilbo jumped out, stumbling as he landed. He cast a glance behind, Thranduil's lot were still behind and getting closer; they would run them down rather than risk another cave-in. 

There was no time for pretence this time, Bilbo only hoped that it was dark enough that the crew couldn't make out what he was doing. He placed his palm over some crucial-looking circuitry and activated the doors. They rumbled open and then Bilbo stopped them, leaving enough space for the mule to squeeze through. As an afterthought, he pulled out his pistol from his waistband and all but melted the electrics. There, let Thranduil catch them now. 

He scurried back onto the mule and they were moving again. It was a tight fit through the gap as the mule shrieked its way through. But then, at last, they were out. 

The air was sharp and cold but it was sweeter than the stale air they'd been breathing for days and, as one, the crew took a giant breath in. 

"Bilbo," Thorin said, drawing Bilbo's attention back to more pressing concerns. 

"I jammed the doors. We have a head start."

"Which way is the ship?"

"Er," he said, as he frantically tried to get his bearings. "Follow that riverbed, keep the light side to our left, that should lead us back to the canyon."

Fili nodded and span the mule around.

"You're hurt," said Thorin. 

"I don't think so? A bit bruised. And my ears won't stop ringing."

"Your hands..."

Bilbo looked down. His knuckles and fingers were a bloodied and scraped mess and it was only _then_  that they started to hurt. 

"Mmm. It does sting a bit," he said, wincing.

Oin peered over, spoiling whatever moment Bilbo and Thorin may have been having. "Not to worry, I'll have that fixed in no time when we get back to the ship."

"Provided it's not been ransacked by those rutting bandits," added Felix despondently.

That thought swiftly put a damper on the budding mood of elation the crew were beginning to feel and the rest of the journey was spent in nervous silence.

 

Before long, the _Mercator_  came into view and Bilbo stared at her, trying to discern any sign of unwanted visitors.

"Lights are off," said Nori.

"They're set to go off twelve hours after engine shutdown," replied Felix. "Saves her runnin' outta battery."

"Bay doors are still open... But it looks like everything else is where it should be," said Kili hopefully.

"I don't like it, something feels off," Balin grumbled.

"Agreed," said Thorin and he beckoned the crew to lean in. "When we land, I want as little noise as possible. Bofur, take Bifur up to the engine room and check for any sign of tampering. I don't want her to crap out on us in the arse-end of space again.

"Felix, get straight up to the bridge. Have her ready to go as soon as Bofur gives the word. Dwalin and Gloin, go with her. Keep an eye out any surprises.

"The rest of us will do a sweep. If you spot anything, _anything,_ out of place, shout up, _dông ma?_  "

The crew nodded.

What do you mean 'surprises'?" asked Bilbo.

"Booby traps, explosive or otherwise. Ambush by angry scavengers. Anyone else who might be there but shouldn't. Better finding it on solid ground than when we're two weeks away from the nearest breathable air."

"So.. the usual, then," Bilbo said faintly.

 

This time, it was Felix who was the first one out of the mule, running up the ramp with Dwalin and Gloin close behind. The ship's interior lit up shortly after and Bilbo could see that everything was pretty much as they had left it.

"Looks clear," he said. Those in earshot groaned.

"Don' jinx it!" admonished Bofur.

"I didn't mean- I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it," said Thorin, casting a warning glance at Bofur. "Spacers' superstitions. Let's get moving. Remember, quickly and quietly."

Fili and Kili stationed themselves by the doors as lookouts whilst Bilbo and the others searched the ship from top to bottom. Bilbo and Nori took the kitchen and dining area, yanking open all the cupboards and cubby holes looking for, well, anything really.

"Nothin'," said Nori. " Balin?"

"Bridge is clear!"

"I'll go and let Thorin - the Captain - know," said Bilbo. He turned on his heel and scurried off, missing the knowing smirk Nori cast his way.

Leaning over the railing of the gangway, Bilbo waved down to catch Thorin's attention.

"Everything's fine up here."

"Oin? Dori?" called Thorin.

"Medbay is untouched."

"Passenger quarters are fine as well. Although Ori's room could do with a tidy."

"Hey!" came a small protest from somewhere below Bilbo's feet.

"Seal it up," Thorin ordered Kili. "Then get everyone secured. Fili, on the bridge with me."                                                                                                                                                                                               

Bilbo watched as Kili punched a button and the doors began to lumber closed. A crack like thunder had Bilbo's heart stutter in his chest and his blood froze. At first, he thought something in the ship's engine had cracked and it wasn't until Kili fell to the floor with a cry that he realised what was happening. 

" _KILI!"_ bellowed Fili, and charged headlong to where his brother lay. There was another crack and a spark a few feet away from the brothers as the shot missed its mark. 

"SNIPER! DOWN!" Thorin yelled as he ran to Fili's side and they dragged Kili clear of the doors, leaving a smear of blood along the floor. Bilbo dived to the floor of the gantry and covered his head with his hands.

<<Orcs!>> said Dwalin over the comms. <<It was a gorram ruttin' ambush!>>

Thorin sprinted from Kili's side to a comms unit by the stairs. "Felix! Get us airborne!" 

<<Aye, cap'n...Do you want the good news or the bad news?>>

"Not the time, Felix."

<<We got all systems green. Engine is heating up and we're good to take off in less than a minute.>> The bay doors finally closed with a thud, bullets pinging off the exterior of the _Mercator._ <<Bad news is that sensors are picking up six Fenris ships parked a half a mile from here And -  _tāmāde_  - at least ten of Thranduil's troop transports closing on our position. Looks like they finally got that door open.>>

"I don't care what you do, just get us outta here!"

<<Will do, Cap'n. Y'all might wanna find something to hold on to.>>

Thorin tossed aside the comms unit and bent over his nephew. Bilbo couldn't see where Kili had been hit and, for a horrifying moment, it looked as though Thorin was performing CPR. But Thorin moved to one side and Bilbo could see now that he was tying a scrap of material around Kili's thigh. 

As though he weighed nothing, Thorin scooped the lad up and carried him to the infirmary. Fili trailed behind, running his bloodied hands through his hair and looking like he was about to break. 

Bilbo felt the ship judder underneath him. Heeding Felix's warning, he ran to the dining area and strapped himself into one of the seats there. After that, all he could do was listen and hold on with the others. And try not to vomit. 

<<Bofur, we're doing a hard burn in atmo.>>

<< _Mèimei_ , are y'tryin' to blow us up?!>>

<<That wasn't the plan but if we do, at least we'll take some of those fuckers with us.>>

<<Right y'are then... Bif says she's ready.>>

<<On my mark. Three. Two. One. Mark.>>

Bilbo was slammed sideways and left with the alarming feeling that he was accelerating upwards whilst his stomach had been left behind on solid ground. The ship shook and creaked and Bilbo scrunched his eyes closed at the horrible sensation. 

<<Clear,>> Felix said as the world finally stilled. <<And you may be pleased to know that it looks like Thranduil's folk are blasting merry hell out of the Orcs. Should give us some time to rabbit.>>

"At least the faithless bastards are good for summat," Dwalin muttered, mostly to himself. 

With as little conversation as he could manage, Bilbo retrieved the files from Ori, checked in on Kili - poor lad had been shot in the leg, painful, but he'd live - then excused himself. 

Once in his room and finally alone, Bilbo sat on his bed and stared at the opposite wall for a good long while, thinking. Finally, he slapped his thighs decisively and peeled off the itchy boiler suit. The data tab was still where he'd hidden it and he took it, the bloodstained file and a fresh notebook to his tiny desk. His previous office was under several hundred feet of rock and rubble, so this would have to service for the time being. 

He opened up the book on a fresh page, wriggled his nose, chewed his pencil thoughtfully and then got to work. After everything Bilbo had been through...there was no time to lose. 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arabic:  
>  _Wasalna taqreeban, ya ra'ess_ \- We're almost there, boss  
>  _Tamam. Aftah al-baab wa'akhbar al qa'id 'anduna as-sujana_ \- Very good. Open the gates and tell the commander we have prisoners.
> 
> Chinese:  
>  _pigu_ \- Arse  
>  _Bìzuî!_ \- Shut up!  
>  _Shǎguā!_ \- Literally, 'stupid melon head'  
>  _dông ma?_ \- understand?  
>  _tāmāde_ \- shit  
>  _Mèimei_ \- little sister. Used as a term of endearment.
> 
> General:  
> Bushwhacked - ambushed  
> Gen-eng - genetically engineered
> 
> I had to put the grenades reference in, it was practically obligatory. It's been a while since I last updated this, so sorry about that. Other obligations meant that this story had to go on the backburner for a while. Thanks for sticking with it and I hope it's been worth the wait.   
> Stay shiny x


	15. Wanted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _There's money on your head, you're a wanted face_  
>  _Upside down I'm gonna turn this place_  
>  _In the shadow of the city you've been laying low_  
>  _Whoa, I won't let go_  
>  Wanted by Skinny Lister

 

Deep in thought, Thorin stared at the steady lights outside the window of the _Mercator_ and, sighing, took another look at the screen in front of him. 

"Do we really have no other options?"

"Nope," answered Felix. "Esgaroth is the closest planet to Erebor. We need food, fuel and whatever else is on the resupply list which - by the way - is gonna be as long as I am tall if we add anymore to it. Plus, we need a new skiff to replace the one that Thranduil broke."

"Esgaroth is also in the Alliance's back pocket," Thorin pointed out. "As soon as we dock in Laketown, they'll have us in manacles and shipped back to Mirkwood. Even without the bounty."

"Not to fret, Cap'n, I thought of that. I got a contact. A smuggler. Honest enough, as our kind of folk go. Hates the Alliance almost as much as you, so he won't sell us out. He's got drop sites all over Esgaroth, checks 'em every few days especially if he picks up a ship in the area. If we land at one, I guarantee he'll come out to look. He'll get us what we need."

"Fine. Three days," said Thorin, "then we're gone if he doesn't show."

"Shiny! I'll set course."

Thorin left Felix and made his way towards the kitchen, attempting to massage away the beginnings of a nasty headache. First, he needed coffee. Then painkillers and somewhere quiet to rest, but on a ship that was feeling more and more cramped as time went on that would be unlikely. If not impossible. 

He grabbed his favourite mug, set the water to boil and opened the jar of coffee grounds. Empty. 

" _Tāmāde!_ " he swore. "BOMBUR!"

"Yes?" came the reply from the engine room. 

"Where's the rutting coffee?"

"All out. No tea either before you ask. We're waiting on a supply run."

Desolate, Thorin poured himself a cup of hot water and trudged down to the sick bay, headache not any better. Dwalin collared him at the bottom of the stairs. 

"We got a problem," announced Dwalin. Thorin arched a brow, waiting for him to continue. "Thranduil ransacked our weapon stores, so unless ye were thinkin' o'throwin' ammo at the Orcs, we need guns."

Thorin sighed again. Wonderful. "Tell Felix to add it onto the list."

"What list?"

"The list," replied Thorin, as he dodged round Dwalin to get to the med bay

Inside, Oin was counting vials of medicine and scribbling notes down on a scrap of paper. Kili just lay there, staring at the ceiling. It was a feat in and of itself, getting Kili to stay in the med bay for as long as he had; the poor lad must be going out of his mind with boredom. 

"How's the patient?" asked Thorin as he poked his head round the door. 

"He's worse than you were," said Oin. "Won't take his medicine and if he keeps fidgeting, I'm going to have to strap him to the bed."

"I told you, I'm fine!" Kili protested but, pallid and sweaty, Kili was fooling nobody. 

"Uh-huh. Your mam would scalp me if she saw the state of you," said Thorin. "Stay here, get some rest," he added kindly, patting Kili on the foot. 

Kili opened his mouth to speak but then faltered under Thorin's subsequent glare. "Yes, uncle."

"Oin, painkillers?"

"Not today, I'm afraid. All we have is going into this idiot." He thumbed in Kili's direction. 

"Bugger. You'd best let Felix know we need some more."

"Will do. Whilst you're here, Thorin, I need a word." Oin ushered Thorin out of the door towards the stairs. 

"I know you're talking about me!" Kili yelled at their retreating backs. 

"It's his leg," he said once they were out of earshot, "it's not healing as it should be." 

Thorin frowned. "Is it infected? Did you take the round out?"

"It clipped his femur and fragmented. I managed to get out what I could. And no, it's not infected, as far as I can tell, it's just... not healing."

"Do what you can," said Thorin, clasping Oin's shoulder. "Any supplies we're missing, let Felix know. If it comes to it, we'll take him to hospital on Esgaroth."

"Aye, boss."

With a decisive nod, Thorin strode purposefully into the nearest room and slid the door shut with a sigh and pressed his forehead against the door. 

"Fucking hell," he said in a very small voice. If it wasn't one thing, it was another. Actually making it to Erebor in one piece was beginning to seem more and more impossible the closer they got.

"Can I help you?"

_"Gah!"_  Thorin jumped. "Bilbo," he breathed. "I'm sorry, I thought you'd be in the shuttle. Which, as I now remember, we no longer have."

Bilbo looked at Thorin expectantly, who cleared his throat nervously. "So how's the work going?"

"I'm just in the middle of something quite important-"

"I'll leave you then. Sorry. For disturbing you."

"What I was also going to say," chided Bilbo, "was that if you were looking for somewhere quiet to hide, you're more than welcome to stay." Bilbo waved his pencil in the direction of tiny chair in the corner of the room. 

"That's... that's just what I needed. Thank you," said Thorin sincerely. 

Bilbo flushed and shuffled some of his papers in a pointed manner. 

"Yes, well. There's a couple of books by the bed if you read -wanted to read. Quietly."

Collapsing into the chair, Thorin closed his eyes for a few moments and savoured the undemanding silence. He idly selected a book from the shelf - Shakespeare, Thorin wasn't really surprised - and flipped it open. 

Bilbo went back to work and Thorin watched his hunched figure scribbling away furiously. Somehow, being around Bilbo just made him feel... better. Like he could breathe again. 

"I can feel you staring," said Bilbo, eyes still on the page. 

"Sorry." He tried to sound repentant, but Thorin couldn't quite keep the ghost of a smile out of his voice. He turned his attention back to the book. It had been years since he'd even seen an honest-to-Mahal book, let alone held one. Bound in green leather with gilded edges, it looked (and smelled) old. Bilbo probably didn't know it but, to the right buyer, this was worth ten times what he was getting paid for his work. Not that Bilbo would sell it, even if he did know. Thorin smiled a little at that thought; he was a real  _qípā_ _._

 

**************

 

The ship landed with a small bump and Thorin unbuckled his seatbelt. It was definitely time for some fresh air. 

As captain, Thorin did the honours of opening the cargo doors, letting in the first rays of sunlight they had seen properly in weeks. He, along with the rest of the crew, stood out under the tepid warmth of the sun. He allowed them a couple of minutes relishing in it before he started issuing orders. One person on the scanners at all times, two sentries each at fore and aft and one on the roof of the ship; they were not going to be taken by surprise again. 

According to Felix, their man would be there so there was nothing more to do but wait until he showed. And, a day and half later, he did. 

 

Sequestered in Bilbo's cabin, Thorin was indulging in his usual past time of half-reading, half-studying Bilbo. Today, it was with faint amusement and a pretty damn big slice of pride that he watched Bilbo excitedly putting the final touches to Arkenstone. It had been his grandfather's work, left unfinished. Now Bilbo was completing it and Thorin couldn't think of anyone more skilled or more worthy to build on Thror's legacy. 

<<He's here, Cap'n,>> said Felix over the comms. 

"Bugger," said Bilbo. "I still need to run a couple more sims and the data from the last lot hasn't been analysed yet and-"

Thorin held up his hand. "It's fine. Take as long as you need, we won't leave without you."

He rose and on his way out, placed a hand on Bilbo's shoulder and squeezed gently. "And thank you for this."

Bilbo began to stammer something but Thorin put him out of his misery and left, smiling. 

"Uncle," greeted Fili as he left his own quarters and fell into step with Thorin. He chose to ignore the questioning look his nephew gave him. 

The rest of the crew, a limping Kili included, were waiting for him outside. Across the clearing stood a lone man in a long, dark coat, his rifle trained on the group. 

"I've got people all over this wood. If anyone of you so much as looks at their weapons, you're dead," he shouted. 

"Felix?" muttered Thorin, fingers twitching towards his missing pistols as he searched the undergrowth for anything out of place.

"He's lying. He works alone." 

Thorin relaxed. "You're up," he said. 

"Hey, Bard! Long time, no see," Felix hollered over. 

"Felix? Wasn't expecting to see you anytime soon."

"Yeah, well. You know how it is."

"Enough with the pleasantries," hissed Dwalin. "Tell him to stop pointed that gorram weapon at us!"

"Will you shut up and give us a minute?" she growled back."How's business?"

"Slow and steady," Bard shouted. "As always. What's the weather like on Shadow these days?"

"Foggy by night and dark by day. How's the weather in Laketown been?"

"Like my wife always said, if you don't like it, wait five minutes," Bard replied. 

He lowered his gun and began to stride across the clearing. Felix visibly untensed and grinned at the crew. 

"What was that all about?" asked Balin. 

"Code," she said. "We all have one. It's so we know we're both on the level."

"Felix," said Bard as he approached, hand extended, "what trouble have you brought onto my doorstep this time?"

"Just travellers," she replied, clasping his hand warmly. "Bard, this is our captain, Thorin. Thorin, Bard. He can get us what we need."

"And what's that?" Bard asked. He met Thorin's eye and frowned. 

"Food, fuel, medicine, parts, weapons," Thorin reeled off. "We made a list."

"I see." Bard's gaze drifted over Thorin's shoulder to the Mercator and he gave her a once over. "Seems like you've had a bumpy ride."

"It was... interesting," said Thorin impatiently. He felt a finger poke in his ribs and Balin gave him a warning look. 

"You know how things are these days," Balin said. "'Verse isn't as safe as it used to be. Orc territory has expanded; a trip to the Iron Hills takes twice as long to avoid them now."

Bard, still frowning, hummed. "If you had come across Orcs, you wouldn't be standing here. And those," he pointed to a cluster of bullet holes along the starboard thruster casing, "were not made by any Orc weapons."

"We value our anonymity," said Balin. "The Alliance took issue with that."

"The Alliance contracts me to move legitimate cargo between Mirkwood and Esgaroth. Whatever you have done to ruffle Thranduil's feathers, I want no part of it; I have children to feed."

"Which is why we would pay you double what a legitimate job would make you. Take us into Laketown, help us get our supplies and then bring us back here. That's all we need."

Bard regarded them all impassively then looked at Felix. She nodded once and Bard offered his hand to Thorin. 

"Five thousand credits and we have a deal."

Thorin shook his hand without hesitating. 

 

***************

 

The _Mercator_ , camouflaged under green netting and branches, was left behind; Thranduil had already alerted Esgaroth port authorities to look out for a Firefly. The sneaky bastard. 

The crew took what they needed and piled into Bard's ship, The Black Arrow. A Thrush class freighter - so named for the trilling whir of its VTOL thrusters - it was sleeker, faster and less unwieldly-looking than the Mercator. Technology had moved on in the twenty plus years since the last Firefly had been made, so it was like comparing a hawk to a piano.

They were ushered into the long cargo bay, scattered with crates and boxes of varying shapes and sizes. Even the inside looked more aerodynamic than the Mercator and Felix nodded approvingly. 

"I ain't never been in one o' these before. Looks pretty spiffy," she said grudgingly. 

Bard rolled his eyes and disappeared off up the stairs at the stern of the ship which led to the flight deck and the engine room. Unlike the Mercator, she was just one big warehouse. No passenger quarters or medbay to be seen. The crew wedged themselves wherever they could fit and waited for takeoff. Thorin heard the VTOL thrusters firing up, but it wasn't until Felix announced "We're moving" that he realised they had actually gone anywhere. 

 

Since Thranduil had so kindly laid out the welcome mat, Bard's genius plan to sneak them past the port guards was to stuff them all in a freezer full of hanging animal carcasses and hope that no one would look to closely. Or that they wouldn't freeze to death. It was the kind of plan that Thorin could easily see himself coming up with, which was perhaps why he wasn't entirely convinced it would work. 

"So, you're just hopingthat they won't see us?" said Nori with as much skepticism as he could manage. 

"But it's so cold in there!" squeaked Ori. "What if we run out of oxygen?! What if we get hypothermia?! Or frostbite?!"

"No time to argue," Bard said brusquely. "In you get."

"Do as he says," barked Thorin. Sulkily, the crew trudged in, wrapping their coats closer about themselves. "This better work," he warned Bard. 

Giving a nonchalant shrug, Bard slammed the door shut, enveloping the crew in blue-tinged darkness.

"I don't trust him," grumbled Dwalin as he tucked his fingers into his armpits. "What if he just leaves us in here to die?"

"He won't," said Balin with surety. "We haven't paid him yet." Dwalin only grunted in reply. 

A trio of dull thumps on the side of the freezer and the crew scuttled behind the stacks of crates, crouching down on the icy floor out of sight. They waited, mouths clamped against chattering teeth and breathing into their hands to disperse their warm puffs of breath. Then, a series of clicks and and whine as Bard swung open the door. 

"Just fish and meat today, Percy."

After some humming and hahhing, the man named Percy eventually said, "Everything looks in order. I'll let you lock up whilst I approve the manifest."

"Not so fast!"called a third voice as the door began to scrape closed. Thorin winced. "This 'ere says that container is supposed to be empty which it clearly is not. Tut-tut, Bard, importing contraband, are we? Yet again? Lads, clear this lot out."

Shuffling feet started to come closer to the barricade the crew hid behind and they tensed, preparing for their discovery. 

"Now let's not be too hasty here, Alfrid. You've nowhere to store that food, are you just going to leave it to rot?"

"It is illegal cargo. It's not my problem what happens to it after it's seized."

"Shipments are being delayed. It's been three weeks since the last one and people are starting to get hungry. If they find out you stopped this getting through, they'll be a riot."

"Is that a threat?"

No, it's an observation."

There was a long moment of silence, and then, "Fine. But the Governor will hear of this."

"I've no doubt he will," said Bard. "I dare say half of this will end up on his plate anyway."

The door finally swung closed and latched shut with a reassuring thunk. 

It couldn't have been more than a few minute until Bard opened the doors again. 

"Out you get. But don't get too comfortable, we're not out of the woods yet."

Thorin shot a mutinous glare at the man's back as he bounded up the stairs to the bridge two at a time; he sounded far too much like he was enjoying this. 

 

The Black Arrow touched down with a delicate bump and Bard met the crew by the main doors. 

"My home is being watched," he announced and cut off the inevitable complaints with a raised hand. "-But there is a way in without being seen."

"Go on," said Thorin suspiciously.

"Through the sewer system. I placed green markers along the route so the way is clear enough. Follow them and it'll bring you straight up underneath my house. "Take these," he thrust a bag into Bilbo's arms, who peered inside and pulled out several rusty headlamps. 

"Lovely," muttered Bilbo. 

"How are we going to get to the gorram sewer without being seen, then?" asked Gloin. 

Bard walked over to the door control panel and felt for something on the underside. A mechanical whirring under their feet and a small porthole opened up, revealing nothing underneath but a circle of grey, cracked tarmac.

Thorin was about to summon the full weight of his fury against this man and his shitty backwater deals but a crowbar had materialised in Bard's hand, giving him pause. 

Bard jammed the end of the crowbar into the chink in the ground and pushed down, silently levering open a trapdoor. A two-foot thick, hydraulically-assisted trapdoor, no less. The rungs of a ladder disappeared into the murky damp below.

"As you can see, I'm very particular about where I park," said Bard, the ghost of a smirk playing across his face. Thorin didn't begrudge Bard his smugness. Well, he did a little. 

He looked at Thorin expectantly, as did the rest of the crew, and with a vicious glare at the whole gorram lot of them, Thorin eased himself onto the ladder. It was slippery and treacherous but the sewer didn't smell nearly as bad as he'd been expecting. A small mercy. 

Grimacing, he jumped the last few feet into the water. The cold drove the breath from his body and he fought back some un-captainly noises of discomfort: it was so cold, it hurt. 

"Come on then!"he yelled back up once he'd caught his breath. 

Next down the ladder was Dwalin, headlamp on. As he landed with a gentle splash, he illuminated the walls of the tunnel ahead, glistening with sewer slime. 

"Tāmāde," Dwalin swore. "It's brass monkeys down here. Still. Not as bad as that job in Bree. D'ye remember?"

"How could I forget?" Thorin said under his breath. 

His lower half had numbed quite nicely by the time the rest of his crew, bitching and moaning, deigned to join him. 

"It shouldn't take you long," Bard called down once Ori had summoned up the courage to let go of the ladder. "It's only a few minutes walk. Just follow the markers!"

The trapdoor swung shut, cutting off all light and sound from above, leaving only the dim torches, the shivering of his crew and the plink of dripping water.

"Best get moving then," said Thorin. 

As promised, the way to Bard's was fairly obvious to follow; his markers - fluorescent green arrows - reflected the light back with blinding intensity. Easy enough, even for Thorin's sense of direction. They waded in silence, always within arm's reach, ready to catch each other when they stumbled over silty potholes and discarded junk. A left off the main trunk and a right onto an even smaller tunnel and they found themselves at the foot of a ladder with an arrow stuck onto the wall behind it, pointing directly up. 

"Must be the place," grunted Dwalin. He set foot on the ladder and began to climb, stopping at the top to hammer on a wooden slab above.

It was heaved aside and a young girl's face appeared, looking as confused as Thorin felt. She offered her hand to Dwalin as he reached the top of the ladder but he just glared at her. She scuttled away and out of sight. 

"Da," Thorin heard her say, "why are there men coming out of the waste pipe?"

"Not now, Sigrid," replied Bard. "Go and get some blankets and some clean clothes. Bain, get the hot water going."

Bard loomed into view, helping the others up and out. It took them forever, or so it felt to Thorin. Knowing that the warm and dry was not ten feet away, he started thinking about how cold he was. A mistake, he realised, as a violent shiver ran through him. Thorin was the last out and resisted the urge to just lie on the comparatively warm concrete. 

Their short and unpleasant trip through the sewers had led them out onto a platform with the misty waters of Esgaroth lapping at a jetty several feet below. A stilted, wooden building loomed above them and a set of rickety stairs connected the two. 

"Up you go." Bard gestured to the steps.  "The kids should have some hot drinks sorted by now. I'll finish up down here."

A sudden breeze and a collective attack of the shivers had the crew taking the stairs two at a time. Thorin nodded at Bard with begrudging gratitude and trotted up after them at (what he hoped was) a more dignified pace.

 

Bard's home was small - two bedrooms, one bathroom and a long, open room that functioned as a kitchen-dining room - but it was cosy and the children's toys and artworks gave it a welcoming, homely feel. Most importantly for Thorin, it was warm. 

He had taken one of the blankets offered a mug of tea and was stood by the window, watching the goings-on of Lake Town and its waterways.

He'd been here before as a child on a trip with his father. Memories hit Thorin with the force of a thunderclap and he squeezed his eyes shut. The closer they got to Erebor, the more vivid his recollections were. Things that he had buried long ago were floating to the surface again and it was becoming harder and harder to get control. 

"Are you ok, Thorin?"

Snapping his eyes open, he looking down into Bilbo's concerned face. 

"Mmm, just cold."

Bilbo pursed his lips and gave him A Look. 

Thorin lowered his voice, quiet enough for only Bilbo to hear. "Coming back, having to confront what happened again... It's..."

"Not easy," Bilbo finished. He placed a warm, steady hand on Thorin's arm. "It will be alright in the end. You have the crew. And me."

"You are one of the crew."

"That's not what I meant, Thorin, and you know it isn't," Bilbo scolded. "What I'm trying to say is that you're not alone in this. We are here for you."

Thorin nodded dumbly. By the time he'd gathered the words to reply, Bilbo had drifted off towards one of the heaters to try and get warm, leaving Thorin alone with his thoughts.

As usual, Bilbo was right; he had a damn fine crew. He resolved to focus on that. Even if they did smell faintly of sewer water.

 

Bard had the good graces to wait until they'd all warmed up some before launching into business. 

"So what brings you to Esgaroth? Specifically," he added. 

"Visiting family," lied Balin. "In the Iron Hills. We've had a run of bad luck along the way and only just managed to limp here."

Folding his arms, Bard scrutinised the crew. "Fair enough," he said eventually. "What do you need?"

"Felix..." Thorin tilted his head towards Bard and she handed him a datapad with an apologetic shrug.

"More'n last time."

"It would have been easier for me to ask for a list of what you don't need," said Bard. "Fuel isn't going to be a problem. Neither is food so long as you like protein bars. I'll check what med supplies we have but we're running low as is. As for parts... I can see if Percy will be able to jerry-rig something, but some of this... It'll be tricky to find."

"We can pay," said Balin. 

"Money ain't the issue. And you're already paying enough as it is." Thorin snorted quietly; it was the first time he'd ever heard a smuggler say that. Bard scratched his chin in thought, eyes never leaving the datapad.

"Give me a couple of hours and I can make some enquiries " he said. "It would be best if you stayed in the house for the time being. Even you, Felix. I don't doubt Alfrid remembers you from last time and he is not a forgetful or forgiving kind of man."

Felix grumbled to herself as Bard shrugged on his coat and slipped the list into one of its massive pockets. With a wink to his children and a cordial nod to the crew he left, letting a blast of icy air into the house as he closed the door. 

Curiosity got the better of Thorin. "What did you do?"

"Broke Alfrid's nose," Felix answered, completely unrepentant. 

"Any particular reason?" asked Bilbo.

"He wouldn't lift the port lock on the Mercator."

"I see," said Bilbo, "and, dare I ask, why there was a lock on the ship?"

"We had a disagreement over the finer point of Esgaroth's tax law."

"Of course you did."

"It's kinda how I ended up going to You-Know-Where the first time. It was the one place close by I knew they wouldn't follow. 

"Where? Where did you go?" piped a small, excited voice and the youngest, Tilda, emerged from behind a door. 

"To the edge of the Verse," said Felix. "And you know what's there?"

"What? What?" 

"Nothin'. Just more space." Tilda's face fell in disappointment. "But, I did see an alien not far from here once."

"No you didn't. Aliens ent real."

"Are too!"

"She's right, young 'un. I seen 'em as well," added Gloin.

"Tell me," demanded the little girl.

Gloin launched into the same story Thorin had heard a thousand times before. Usual after Bombur's special brew had done the rounds. Once the little eavesdroppers were fully distracted, the crew moved closer to Thorin. 

"So what now?" asked Fili in a hushed voice. 

"Wait until Bard returns and see where we go from there," said Thorin. 

Dwalin huffed and folded his arms. Bilbo rounded on him.

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" he hissed angrily. "He's left us with his children, Dwalin. His. Children. We can trust him."

Dwalin had the sense to look sheepishly at his feet. 

"There we are then," said Bilbo determinedly. He looked to Thorin. 

"We wait," said Thorin firmly. 

 

Bard was gone the best part of the afternoon, returning only when the skies had shifted from grey to purple. The respite that the afternoon's waiting had been welcome. As had the company of Bard's children (not that Thorin would ever admit it to anyone other than Dis). Balin, Gloin, Kili and Fili had found a new audience for old tales, edited for young ears of course, and Thorin had closed his eyes and listened to the lull of chatter. 

The door banged open, jarring Thorin from his catnap, and Tilda rushed over to greet Bard, who hoisted her up to his shoulder and hugged Bain and Sigrid with his free arm.

Letting Tilda slide down onto a chair, Bard dumped a holdall - not even half-full by the look of it - onto the table. 

"Tell me the rest of it is down at the docks," said Thorin. 

Bard threw them an apologetic look. "This is it." 

He unzipped the bag and tipped its contents out onto the table. A few vials of medicine, several rolls of bandages, about three weeks' worth of protein rations and a pair of ancient-looking pistols. The crew stared at the meager haul in silence. 

"What kind of _goushî_   is this?" Dwalin said. 

"I realise it's not all of what you asked for, but-"

"Not all of it?!  _Wo_ _de ma,_  this is going to be about as much use to us as a wet fart in a hurricane! We need weapons! Ammo! We need our gorram medbay restocking!"

"The governor raided half my contacts last month," replied Bard in clipped tones. "What little medicine was left, we took for ourselves. No one can afford the prices the doctors charge. And I'll thank you not to swear in front of my children."

"He doesn't sell the weapons on though? Right?" asked Thorin. 

"No, he stockpiles them for his prods. He's worried an armed population might led to an uprising. He seems to think that we're not satisfied with our lot."

"Can't imagine why," said Bofur. 

"No skiff neither?" enquired Felix.

Bard shook his head. "None working."

"Damn."

"Nori?" Thorin looked down the table. 

"Backwater like this? No offence there, Bard. Barracks will be operating on minimal tech. At least ten years behind the Core. Shouldn't be to hard to crack."

"What do you mean 'crack'? Oh no, no. You can't steal from under the Governor's nose! The last person who got caught was shot on sight!"

"We need those weapons," said Thorin. 

"Besides, we won't get caught," added Nori. 

Bard threw up his hands in exasperation. "Fine. But before you go doing anything stupid, give me a few more hours. I might be able to sort something out."

Grabbing his coat, Bard beckoned to his son. Thorin watched their whispered conversation with suspicion. Bard patted his son reassuringly on the shoulder and left. 

As soon as he had gone, the girls retreated to one of the other rooms whilst Bain dragged a chair closer to the fire and grabbed a book. That the chair was positioned to give a perfect view of the door did not escape Thorin. He put as much distance between himself and the boy as possible and gestured for the crew to follow. 

"Do you think he'll manage to get what we need?" asked Bilbo quietly. 

"I doubt it," said Balin. "He's a smuggler, not a thief. Maybe one or two pieces from others like him, but certainly not fifteen."

"Fourteen," said Bilbo. At their confusion, he pulled out a pistol from the waistband of his trousers. Thorin recognised it as the one he'd acquired in Shaw. 

"Well done for hanging on to that!" exclaimed Bofur. 

"Thirteen," added Felix. "If nobody minds, I'll take these." Picking up the two pistols on the table she admired them with something akin to nostalgia. "Learned to shoot with a set just like these."

"So that leaves us needing thirteen rifles. Plus ammo. Oin, meds?"

"There's a couple of vials of antibiotic here. One of morphine. These will be enough to tide Kili over but if anyone else is silly enough to get shot, there won't be a gorram thing to do but pray."

"I told you, I'm fine," protested Kili, trying not to wince as he stood up straight. 

"I've seen corpses with more colour," said Bofur. 

" _Bìzuî,_ asshole," Kili growled and Bofur held his hands up. Thorin made a mental note to have words with his youngest nephew. 

"That may be the case, Kili," he said, "but one person's worth of med supplies is not going to be enough."

"We got bigger problems anyway, Cap'n," said Felix. 

"Enlighten me."

"This whole plan for landing on Erebor requires a skiff. Without it, we've come all this way to look at it out the window. 

"The way I did it last time and, as far as I know, the only way to make land with Smaug still on is to send in a dummy ship first to trigger the EMP cannon. The second ship then has an 80 second window to get out of range before the generator can recharge for a second shot."

"And our dummy would have been one of the skiffs?" said Ori.

"Exactly. So we either need a new Series 4-compatible skiff or an entirely new ship with remote piloting."

"Well, that changes the landscape," said Balin. 

"Wait... how do you know all this?" asked Bilbo. "I mean, I know you've done it before, but... before that?"

"Some old guy in bar told me."

"Come again?"

"Yeah, out in Dunland  We got to talking about ships. Then we got to bragging about ships. He told me it was the most dangerous run in the Verse, but if I made it, I'd be the first person on the planet for a decade or so. Thought it'd just be one of those useless bits of information you keep in your noggin, y'know. Never thought I'd actually end up there."

"So, let me get this straight: you bet life and liberty on the word of some random stranger that you met in a pub on the opposite end of the Verse?" said Bilbo. 

Felix pondered for a second. "Pretty much, yeah."

Thorin shared a look with Balin. It was the first solid lead they'd had for years... but it would have to wait until later. 

"So essentially, we need to break into the town's armory, steal their weapons and med supplies, and beg, borrow or steal something to use as a dummy craft. Correct?"

The crew nodded. 

"You know what to do, lads. Get to it."

 

Within twenty minutes, Ori and Nori had pulled up the schematics of the armory and worked out a way in.

"Simple second storey job," said Nori. "Nobody ever thinks about the second floor..."

As for the skiff, Felix had an idea of where to look: a scrapyard just out of town. Under the cover of darkness and a strategically placed hat she'd borrowed from Sigrid, they hoped that no one would recognise her. Thorin ordered Balin and Bifur to go with her. Neither were particularly bothered about missing out on the excitement and, truth be told, Thorin was quite glad to have the three of them out of the way. Besides, Gloin held the purse strings but Balin was by far the better negotiator. If anyone could get what they needed, it was him. 

Throughout all the excitable planning, Bain watched them all with a disapproving look. After a while, he finally plucked up the courage to approach Thorin and Dwalin. 

"Da said you should stay here."

"Yer da's not here so we'll be off, ta," said Dwalin. 

"It's dangerous, you could get caught."

"Aye, lad. I expect it is." Dwalin grinned menacingly and the boy backed off. 

Thorin took pity on him. "We'll be fine. Just stay inside and if anyone comes asking questions, you never saw us and we were never here.  _Dông ma?_ "

"Yes," said Bain sulkily. 

"Good lad."

 

Balin, Bifur and Felix left first, the latter two throwing salutes as they sauntered into the night. 

"See you later, old man," said Thorin, clasping Balin's arm.

"Less of the 'old', if you don't mind," Balin shot back. "Mahal bring you luck."

"And you," replied Thorin. He watched Balin leave, closing the door behind him. Then he turned to Gloin. "Count twenty minutes."

"Aye, boss."

The crew perched on chairs and tables and leaned against walls, fidgeting quietly as they waited. 

"Five minutes," said Gloin through force of habit; it wasn't like they needed the warning, they had bugger all gear to pack up. 

Bilbo sidled silently up to Thorin. "What's the plan if this doesn't work?" he muttered. 

"There isn't one. Yet."

"'Yet?' What do you mean 'yet?'"

"I mean we'll cross that bridge if we get to it."

"Wonderful," hissed Bilbo, "Just wonderful. I don't suppose you've considered what happens if we get caught, have you?"

"Oh, I imagine Balin or somebody will come along and break us out. That's what usually happens."

Bilbo gaped. "That is not a salient exit strategy. What if they start shooting at us?"

"Then we'll get shot at. Again," he added as an afterthought. "Relax, it'll go fine. Besides, I don't know why you're so worried. You're the only one of us that's actually armed."

"I cannot relax, Thorin, because 'fine' is not usually how these things end up!"

"Your vote of confidence is comforting, thank you," Thorin deadpanned. 

Bilbo ran his hands through his curls and sighed. "I'm just saying, maybe we should wait until Bard turns up and make do with that."

"There's no guarantee he'll return with anything," Thorin pointed out. "This mission is too important to hinge on one man's ability to haggle over fishermen's cast-offs. We are so close now and I won't risk us failing because we were ill-prepared."

"I understand that, Thorin. I really do, but we will fail if we get caught and sent back to Thranduil."

"Go time," announced Gloin. 

"We're going," said Thorin tersely. "You can come with us or stay with the children: it's up to you."

Bilbo gave Thorin his most indignant look and turned smartly on his heel, following Bofur out the door. Thorin shook his head in frustration. 'That went well,' his inner voice supplied. 

 

Thorin's parting glare at Bain was probably more angry than the boy deserved, but it didn't hurt to reinforce his earlier orders. The night air was cold and stung Thorin's lungs as he breathed. It calmed his annoyance and gave his brain the kick up the arse it needed. No more distractions today. 

His eyes drifted upwards scanning the now-clear night sky. He found it before he even realised what he was looking for: the star Durin, rising a few degrees above the rooftops of Laketown. Seeing it so close made his heart ache. He took a steadying breath and redoubled his resolve. They had a job to do. 

He hurried along after his crew as they made their way through the streets, deserted but for a few stragglers hurriedly coming and going. They walked in twos and threes, scattered so as not to stick out and the cold had given them an excuse to cover their faces, but they stuck to the shadows anyway. Old habits died hard, it seemed. 

As they walked along, the small groupings peeled off down sides streets seemingly at random, taking different routes to the same destination. He and Dwalin followed theirs in practiced silence. They were the first to reach the rendezvous point; an unlit alley leading straight out to the back of the barracks. Blowing into their hands to stave off the cold, they waited. 

Gloin and Oin arrived not long after from the other end of the alley. Fili and Kili shuffled out of some back alley bisecting their own. Bombur, Bofur and Bilbo somehow managed to sneak up on the lot of them; surprising, given that the trio where not what Thorin would have described as 'naturally stealthy'. 

Nori skulked up on his own, having done a walk round of the building already. He reported an electric fence spanning the perimeter, two guards to the front, alarms on the ground floor doors and windows. None on the floors above. 

"Fucking complacency, innit," was Nori's verdict. 

The last pair, Dori and Ori, finally arrived, panting and out of breath. 

"There was a guard so we had to hide," explained Dori, "but then he decided to stop right in front of us for a cigarette."

"I smell like a bin now," said Ori, looking forlorn. 

"Could be worse, laddie," reminded Dwalin. "Ye smelt like a sewer a few hours ago. This is an improvement."

"Nori, get to work," ordered Thorin.

Within a couple of minutes and given a set of pilers and some stray lengths of cable he'd acquired, Nori had by-passed the circuit on the fence and clipped a small yet serviceable hole for them to sneak through. 

"Go straight to the wall. Don't dawdle and stay in the shadows as much as you can," said Thorin. 

Excepting Bombur, who had some problems with the fence, the crew made it across with no trouble. As they waited below, Nori clambered onto Dwalin's shoulders and jimmied the window with a bar. It slid open, grating against the frame and Nori slipped inside. Those below paused, ears straining to pick up any sounds of discovery. 

There was only silence and Thorin gave them the nod to continue. The more athletic of the group were half-pulled, half-shoved up towards the window. It was undignified, but it did the job. Thorin landed in a room carpeted with dust. White sheets had been flung over the furniture and boxes and shelves lined the walls. It looked as though it had been undisturbed for some time and Thorin allowed himself a smirk. How lucky. 

He took a quick look through the boxes whilst he, Dwalin and Nori waited for Fili and Kili. It was paperwork mostly. There was probably something in there worth having but they had little time and bigger priorities.

Nori led them out into the main building. Even in the murk, Thorin could tell the place was poorly maintained. Paint flaked off the doors and patches of damp bloomed sporadically along the ceiling. He was starting to dread what the state of the weapons in the armory would be like. 

Down a corridor with creaky wooden floors that almost gave Thorin a heart attack, they finally found it and Thorin, for a change, was happy to be proved wrong. The rifles they pulled out to the lockers were not the most advanced tech, but they had been kept in good condition. In a pinch, they would do; the crew had definitely used worse before. 

The five of them loaded up with as much as they could carry. Thorin thrust a box of ammo into the arms of the person standing behind him and Kili staggered backwards, wincing. 

"Are you ok?"

"It's nothing, I can manage," Kili replied through gritted teeth. 

Thorin kicked himself. From the looks of him, it clearly wasn't nothing and the lad was just about coping. What with everything going on and Kili's sheer bloody-minded refusal to ask for help, Thorin had forgotten about Kili's leg. It would have to wait a little longer. The current priority was getting back to Bard's - preferably with the loot - without getting pinched. He ushered Kili to the door and Fili scowled at the pair of them as they passed. 

The armory all but cleared out, they began to make their way back through the building. Thorin was just beginning to get that feeling of elation he got after a successful job but then there was a gasp, a pained whimper and the clatter of metal as it hit the floor. The noise was so loud it hurt Thorin's ears. There was silence for a beat and then an uproar from below and the sound of boots running up the stairs. Busted.

The look on Kili's face almost broke Thorin's heart.

"It's not your fault," he managed to say before a shouting guard rammed the muzzle of a rifle into the back of his head. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chinese:  
>  _qípā_ \- literally means strange or unusual flower. Essentially, someone who is a delightful sort of oddball.  
>  _Tāmāde!_ \- Fuck, shit  
>  _goushî_ \- Shit  
>  _Wo de ma_ \- Mother of God  
>  _Bìzuî_ \- Shut it  
>  _Dông ma?_ \- Understand?
> 
>  
> 
> Hey there, Browncoats, it's been a while! During the last half of 2017, everything that could have gone wrong went wrong so the writing had to take a backseat. The dust seems to have settled now though and things are looking up so, to celebrate, here's a new chapter. Happy new year! Stay shiny and keep flying!


	16. Green Light

 The instant they overheard the local bulletin on the scrap merchant's radio, Felix, Balin and Bofur let out a collective sigh: it had been a perfectly simple job and yet it was so gorram _predictable_  that it would go wrong. They made their excuses and left empty-handed. With the crew in imminent peril, the scavenger hunt would have to be abandoned. Not that this was any great loss; things had not been going well. 

The trio made their way over to the town hall, deducing that, being the only official building on the entire planet, it was likely that the crew would be taken there first. If there had been any doubt, the ever-swelling crowds of curious people were a sure sign they were going in the right direction. 

If the rumours were true - and Felix took the words of her fellow smugglers seriously on these things - the Governor of Laketown liked justice to be seen to be done which meant the stocks, floggings and the occasional execution for the viewing pleasure of the whole of Esgaroth. She disliked public punishments on principle -  the whole institution didn't seem proper and it made the job a damn sight harder when people started to recognise you. 

They elbowed their way to the front of the crowd that had now spilled out from the narrow streets onto the vast town square. She spotted the rest of the crew stood in the middle, surrounded by at least two dozen armed guards. Aside from Thorin, who seemed to be sagging against Dwalin some, they looked to be mostly in one piece.

 At the sight of his family at gunpoint, Bofur made as though to charge out and it took Felix hanging off one arm and Balin off the other to hold him back. Luckily, none of the guards noticed, they were too busy watching the threat in front to spot the potential threat behind. A few of the townspeople did though and made a not-so subtle effort to get as far away as possible. 

Dwalin scanned the crowd with an air of confrontational nonchalance (an expression only Dwalin could wear without looking constipated) and Felix caught the tiny flicker of his hand when he saw them. 

"We're staying put for now, right?" Balin muttered to the pair of them. 

"No complaints here," said Felix. Bofur grunted, still seething. 

The curious chatter of the crowd died away. Short-lived mutterings would ripple through the crowd at the twitch of a curtain or the sight of a lamp lit in the building ahead of them. Mostly though, they were silent. It was too late and too cold for anything else.

Something cool and damp brushed against Felix's cheek and then again. She looked up. Bard's wife had been right; the weather had turned from a crisp, clear night to thick clouds and it was now beginning to snow. Normally, Felix would have been beside herself with excitement - not a whole lot of snow in space - but as it was, it just made her feel colder and even more miserable.

The two great doors to the town hall were flung open and the Governor emerged with Alfrid - the slimy weasel - slinking behind. She'd never seen the Governor before; last time she'd been here, she'd tried to keep her head down and, from what she'd heard, he didn't have much dealings with the common folk anyways. This was clearly an occasion. 

She saw nothing special - nothing that scared her at any rate - just a balding, old white man with too much money and too much power. They were the same the Verse over: little despots in their little kingdoms, lording it over everyone else. But the wheel always kept turning and he'd get his. Eventually. 

Besides, he employed Alfrid which was more than a mite of evidence to condemn him. At the sight of the purple-bellied bugbrain, Felix's punching muscles twitched. His nose had been reset and was just begging to be broken again. 

"Who are these miscreants?" the Governor bellowed and he gestured expansively at his prisoners. 

"Thieves, sir," answered one of the guards. "We caught 'em raidin' the armory."

"You aren't from around here, are you?" the Governor asked. 

The crew replied with a stony silence.

"No, you can't be can you...You don't look the sort." He raised his voice, addressing the crowd. "What you see before you, my dear people, is a group of outsiders - foreigners- who sought to deprive these fine, upstanding citizens of the instruments of their livelihood. Instruments bought by them to better keep us safe!"

_Wait, what?!_  Felix exchanged a worried look with Balin and Bofur. That news certainly had an effect on the landscape. Whatever sympathy they might have gained from the Laketowners had well and truly died a death now. Gorram it, she knew they should have listened to Bard, but she'd been so caught up in the skiff-by-any-means plan... ' _Wo cao_ ' she thought, ' _we're all so fucked.'_

"So what shall we do with these criminals, eh? These dishonest, disreputable, common crooks!"

It was one besmirchment too far. 

"Hold yer tongue!" Dwalin roared, face a picture of barely contained fury. "You don' know what yer talkin' about! Or who yer talkin' to!"

"Oh, for Mahal's sake," hissed Balin, "I knew one of them would do something stupid..."

"Aye," agreed Bofur. "It was either going to be him or one of the boys."

"This," said Dwalin, "is Thorin Oakenshield! Heir of Thrain and Lord of Erebor! And we are taking back our home!"

The crowd collectively gasped in disbelief and surprise. Thorin placed a hand on Dwalin's shoulder and gave him a look of gratitude. He turned his back on the Governor and instead addressed the people surrounding him. 

"Many years ago, before the Orcs came, our people were trading partners - and not just that, we were allies. We were friends. The cities of Dale and Esgaroth grew rich from the rivers of mithril and ores that Erebor sent flowing through your streets. But what are your shining cities now? Dale is lost and all I see of Esgaroth are decrepit buildings and a people, half-starved, relying on Alliance handouts for their next meal. 

"And yes, we were stealing your weapons," Thorin cast a glare back at the speechless Governor, "but only with the single aim of reclaiming Erebor. Had time not been of the essence, we would have approached the situation differently. We ask for your forgiveness," Thorin said to the guards, who looked about as astonished as Felix was her own self. 

"As for the rest of you," Thorin continued, "we ask for your help. Help us on our way and, when we succeed, Esgaroth will share in Erebor's wealth. You will have enough mithril, trade and resources to not only feed your families, but to build cities to rival any of the Alliance's!"

A roar, like thunder, rose up from the crowd. In half a minute, Thorin had the Laketowners eating out of his palm. There was no denying it: politics, leadership, they were in Thorin's blood. 

"How can we be sure you'll keep your word? "Alfrid called out. "We don't know anything about you, we don't know what kind of man you are. How do we know you won't just go back to Erebor and hole yourselves up?"

"I guarantee it, " said Bilbo. "I've been travelling with him for the last three months. I'm not one of their people, not even close, but he and his crew have gone above and beyond what I ever expected to look after me. Thorin Oakenshield is a man of great kindness, loyalty, courage and honour... and if he gives his word to an ally, you can be certain he will keep it."

Felix caught the look Thorin gave Bilbo and, despite the circumstances, she couldn't help but grin a little. They were so sweet on each other and so totally useless, it was both adorable and painful to watch. 

The Governor adjusted his coat and took a few steps down towards Thorin. "Then I say....Welcome! And thrice welcome!" he bellowed and the crowd cheered again. Felix could practically see the credit signs gleaming in his eyes as he shook Thorin's hand enthusiastically. 

"That went better than expected," Bofur said happily as they crossed the square to rejoin the others. 

"Mmm," Felix replied non-commitally. Even with Bilbo's ringing endorsement, that had been too easy. The Governor was working an angle and Felix couldn't tell what it was. It put her on edge. 

"You guys go on," she told Balin and Bofur. "I ain't sure the Prodigal Son's reputation will survive an association with the likes of me. I'll be around. Call me if you need me."

"Likewise," said Balin. "Stay out of trouble!"

"No promises," she quipped and let herself melt into the crowd. Head bent, hands stuffed in her pockets, she started walking through the snow. 

Even after she'd beaten a circuit round the town, things weren't any clearer. There were too many possibilities, too many variables and she couldn't see the path. 

_"Felix!"_  someone shouted behind her and she span on her heel. Bard. And he did _not_  look happy. 

"You and I need to have a little talk," he said. Felix got the clear impression that this was not optional. 

 

Bard slid a mug of beer across the table into Felix's open palm. 

"This," he said, "is a mistake."

"It's hardly the most dangerous job I've ever done."

"I'm not talking about you. We both know that there are are two versions of the story: the official one and the truth. The Orcs are smart, Felix, despite what the Alliance says. If this goes wrong, where do you think the Orcs are going to look next?"

Felix took a swig of her beer. It was tepid and tasted like she should have been chewing it instead of drinking it; it was the best thing she'd had for months. 

"Y'all got air defenses, don't you? If any Orcs come a-prowlin', just blast 'em."

"Those guns haven't worked for over a year now."

"Come again?"

Bard nodded. "Alliance Command said they'd send parts and mechanics to fix them as we're 'a key border territory' and 'a vital asset in the defence of the galaxy'. We're still waiting. The only reason we haven't been overrun yet is because as far as they're aware, they still work. If you and that band of lunatics go through with this, they might just decide to come knocking again."

_'Well... shit,'_ thought Felix.

"You know there's nothing I can do to stop them, right?" 

"You can't get there without a ship," said Bard innocently. 

"They'll find a new one - and if you touch the _Mercator_ , I'll fly _The Black Arrow_ into the nearest volcano and toast marshmallows whilst it explodes." Bard snorted derisively. "And if they can't beg, borrow or steal a new ship, then they will make one. And if they can't manage that, Thorin will grow himself a fluffy pair of wings and fly himself there. They won't stop, not when they are so close to something they've spent most of their lives working towards."

Bard looked into his mug thoughtfully. "You really believe in what they're doing, don't you?"

"One of my uncles always told me 'If you can't do something smart, do something right'. This...feels like it's the right thing."

"Even if innocent people get killed? Because that's what will happen."

"Innocent people are _already_  being killed. As it is now, Erebor is a haven for the Orcs, right on the edge of our space. If a stand isn't made now, more 'n more'll keep coming and how long do you think it will be before a raiding party gets snacky and decides to chance those guns again? The Alliance don't give a good gorram about the likes of you and I as long as the Core worlds are safe. We gotta help ourselves, Bard, not just hope that the problem goes away."

He sat back heavily in his chair and stared, unseeing, at a point above Felix's shoulder. She let him alone to his thoughts, hoping he'd change his mind. If he decided to run interference, life would get more interesting than Felix usually liked it to be. 

" _Fei fei pigu_!" he suddenly swore. 

"Da!" a voice chided from the other room. 

"Sorry, Siggy!" he called back. "Felix, look!"

She peered over her shoulder; Bard had muted the his vid screen whilst they had talked, leaving the news streams silently broadcasting their usual reams of mindless crap. Felix didn't need to read lips to know what the talking heads were discussing. The ticker headlines at the bottom of the screen were more than enough.

_'OAKENSHIELD HEADS FOR EREBOR. ESGAROTH TO BENEFIT FROM PROPOSED TRADE DEAL. ALLIANCE ISSUES STATEMENT CONDEMNING THE ACTION.'_

"Son of a _bitch!_ "

"Felix!"

"Sorry, Siggy!" She slammed her fist on the table. "That gouty-faced, back-stabbing purple belly! I knew something weren't right! They set us up!"

A look of comprehension crossed Bard's face. "The Governor... he's playing Thorin and Thranduil against each other. Who ever wins, he's set to gain out of it."

"And now the whole gorram Alliance knows where we are! This is bad. This is very, very bad. I need to - oh, _wo de ma_..." Felix clamped her hands over her mouth in horror. 

"What is it?"

"This isn't a local bulletin, this is Coretex-wide, right?" Bard nodded. "According to my intel, the Orcs have been known to use the Coretex to pick their next raiding targets... and now they know we're here."

The colour drained from Bard's face. "Maker preserve us," he whispered. 

Pushing her chair back, Felix yanked on her coat and headed for the door. She paused, lost in thought. A shift in perspective and suddenly the way ahead revealed itself to her in all its grim certainty. She knew what needed to be done... and it was going to hurt. 

"I think I can draw the Orcs away from Esgaroth..."

"And where are you thinking of drawing them to? Once you leave Esgaroth, there will be nowhere to hide! You'll be signing a death sentence!"

"Erebor. But I'm gonna need your help to do it."

"Not a chance, Felix! If Orcs are heading here then I need to stay and protect my children."

"Da..." Bain stood in the doorway to his room, Sigrid and Tilda peeking from behind. "We can manage here. They need your help, go!" he urged. 

Bard looked from Felix to his son and back, deliberating. Eventually, he groaned. "Alright. Bain, I want you to keep an eye on the radar. If you see anything, anything, that isn't broadcasting a local ID, you take your sisters and head for the tunnels, _dong ma?_ "

"Yes, Da."

"Good lad. I'll keep in touch."

Giving his children a quick hug, Bard grabbed his coat and some supplies and headed for the door. "Let's go get your wayward babes."

 

It had gone midnight by the time they left Bard's home and the streets were reassuringly empty. The pair traipsed their way through the growing snowdrifts to _The Black Arrow_. Felix explained her plan along the way. For a plan she'd come up with almost entirely on the fly, it wasn't half bad, she thought. Bard, however, did not like it but he didn't have to, it just had to work. 

She'd radioed ahead to the crew and told them, using as small a-words as possible, that it didn't matter how nice of a time they were having, they were leaving and they were leaving now. Felix hoped the walk through the snow would sober them up. 

They didn't have to wait long, as the crew sullenly trudged their way up to _The Black Arrow_. 

"Would you mind telling us what you've dragged us out in the pissing cold for?" grumbled Thorin.

"Your new buddy announced your 'trade deal' to the whole gorram Verse."

"No way!" exclaimed Ori. 

"Way. It's all over the ruttin' Coretex."

The alcohol had obviously started to take effect in the short time they'd been unsupervised judging by the deafening lack of responses. "...so now Thranduil knows where we are," she explained slowly. And so do the Orcs, if they're payin' attention and I sorta reckon they are."

" _Tāmāde_ ," hissed Thorin. "We have to go. Now. Bard, take us back to the Mercator. Please," he added as an afterthought. 

Bard raised an eyebrow wryly. "That was very much the idea."

The bay doors of _The Black Arrow_ opened and the crew hurried inside. Kili, shuffling not far behind the others, stumbled and sank to one knee with a groan. Fili hooked an arm around his shoulders and pulled him up. Kili pushed him away once he'd found his feet and tried to take a step forward, only to fall to the ground again. He didn't shove Fili when he picked him up for a second time. 

It hadn't been more than a few hours and somehow, in that space of time, Kili had gone from limping some to barely being able to stand. And he looked sick. Not green-at-the-gills-sick or too-much-homebrew-sick, but sick like he was closer to the What Comes Next than he aught. Felix had been around gunshot wounds her entire life - something of a familial hazard - but she'd never seen anything like this. It didn't make any sense. 

Thorin had seen the whole thing and the look on his face made Felix take a sudden interest in her boots. 

"Kili," Thorin reached out and place a hand on his nephew's shoulder. "You can't come with us."

"But I -"

"No," said Thorin, firmly. "You need to go to a hospital."

"I'm fine, I can do this!"

"You can barely stand without someone holding you! Your mother would kill me if I let you come in the state you're in! Oin will look after you and make sure you get the medicine you need. Rest and heal up."

Shrugging away from his brother, Kili hobbled down the ship's ramp and slumped dejectedly against the docking point.

"Thorin, don't do this," pleaded Fili. "We've come all this way, you can't make him stay behind!"

Thorin sighed. "I'm doing what's best for the all of us. Kili and the rest of the crew. He can't run and he can't shoot. If something goes wrong, he could get himself killed or someone could get killed on his account. I won't have that on my conscience. One day, you'll both understand."

" _Fine_ , but if you're making him stay then I stay too."

"Don't be a fool..."

"He is my brother, Thorin, I'm not leaving him." Fili's barely contained fury briefly boiled over and the intensity of his anger had Thorin taking a step back. 

"As you wish," he relented. 

Fili gave his uncle a curt nod and went to his brother. As he passed, Felix reached out and grabbed his hand. 

"Look after each other," she said. 

"We will. Fly well, _bǎobèi_. I'll see you soon." He gave her fingers a squeeze and dropped her hand. 

Felix felt a pang of guilt; if her stupid plan went wrong - and there were several dozen ways in which it could - then this would be the last time she would see him. She entertained the alternatives but decided that 'see you later' was better than 'hey, I may be facing imminent death due to my gross overestimation of my own abilities and you're the only person I've ever loved, so thanks for everything'. Then there would be questions. Maybe arguing. And tears. Lots of tears. 

Yeah. This way was much better. 

One last look - and gods, how that hurt - and she slunk inside _The Black Arrow_  to hide in the cockpit. They left a few minutes later, minus Fili and Kili, Oin, and Bofur, who they'd somehow managed to lose. He'd last been seen with a lady on one arm and a keg of beer under the other, making a wobbly exit from the town hall. Hopefully, they would all manage to find one another and stay out of trouble. 

She was so lost in thought that Bard had to give her a gentle nudge when they landed. 

"We're here."

"Shiny. Gimme a minute, yeah?"

"Take as long as you need." 

Bard gave her a sympathetic look and left. He knew. He knew about the saying goodbyes and the maybes and whys and the wondering if you'll come back. He'd given up the riskier work years ago, after one goodbye too many. But he knew.

Felix waited until Bard was out of sight before she slid out the co-pilot's chair onto the floor and let herself crumple into a heap. The floor was solid and distractingly cold. 

" _Baba_ ," she whispered, and then paused, searching for the right thing to say, "just let me walk away from this one, okay?"

Taking in a deep breath, she pulled herself up from the floor and squared her shoulders: to the job. She marched down the stairs of The Black Arrow and to the crew collected below. 

"You have five minutes to get whatever you can carry off my ship. Once we take off, it'll be gone forever."

"You're ditching us?!" cried Gloin. 

"What? No. No. Of course I'm not." The crew looked unconvinced. "We came up bust on a skiff; ain't none spare to be had in Laketown and we don't got time to waste looking across the whole damn planet. So - so, _The Black Arrow_  will behind the _Mercator_ , which will take the place of the skiff."

"But the _Mercator_ can't be remote-piloted, can it?" asked Dwalin. 

"No, it can't."

"But-" started Ori as Bifur made a nose of distress. 

"I'll pilot her," Felix explained. "The _Mercator_  will take the full brunt of the EMP, leaving _The Black Arrow_ a safe window to make it to the surface."

"This is insane," said Thorin. "Even for you. There's no way you'll be able to glide her in and you're more likely to plummet to the ground than anything else."

"It can be done, I promise. As long as the nose doesn't tip, I can do it. If not, there are escape pods I can use."

"Felix, you can't do this! She's your home!" pleaded Bilbo. "There has to be a better way. Thorin, tell her."

Thorin shared a look with Felix. "If there was another way, I think she'd be the first person to suggest it." He opened the doors and let the crew out into the crisp night air. "You heard her. Five minutes."

Bard excused himself as Thorin and Felix watched the crew make their way over to the ship. 

"As I said before, this is insane."

"Yep."

"And there really is no other way?"

"Not unless you want to steal a ship from one of Bard's friends. They sure as hell won't sell one to us for the prices we can afford and their families can't eat promises of payment neither. Thranduil will be here soon... there just ain't time for any thing else."

Thorin sighed in resignation. "It's a good job Bofur isn't here; he loves this ship about as much as you do."

It was true. He'd've had kittens at the mere thought. With her actually going through with it? Well... Felix had little doubt that it would have ended up with him running into the forest with some crucial component of the flight computer stuffed up his jumper. She chuckled at the thought. 

"And you know where to aim for? When you land?" Thorin continued. 

"Main infrastructure hub, I know. Big mountain thing, can't miss it. I'll try and get her close. And I'll ping Laketown port control as we leave atmo. Might as well announce our departure as loud as we can and draw the Orcs away."

"Good thinking."

"And, er... Make sure you get on deck before the EMP recharges."

_"I know."_

"And, er..." Felix fidgeted and cleared her throat. "If I sorta happen to die spectacularly, when you see Fili can you tell him that... just tell him, ok?"

"Don't die and you can tell him yourself," he shot back with a barely concealed smirk. 

_'Great,'_ she thought. Even Thorin had noticed. The only person who didn't know how she felt was the person she actually had the feelings for. And it was a bit rich, coming from Captain Less-Than-Forthcoming. 

Felix'd thought up a cutting and witty retort when the rest of the crew started returning and even _she_  had more sense than to open her mouth. She would have preferred to just slip away with a stoic 'See you around' transmission once she was space-borne again. Goodbyes were hard and no matter how many times she'd said it already, it never seemed to get any easier. 

Surprisingly, it wasn't as bad as she'd feared. There was more hugging than she was generally accustomed to and she was pretty sure her spine would never be the same after a bone-crunching embrace from Dwalin. She shook hands with Bard and, lastly, threw Thorin a lazy salute. To her amazement, he held out his hand. Reaching out to shake it, she was pulled in and he patted her gently on the back. 

"Thank you for doing this for us. For everything you have already done for us."

"Yeah, well my home is just a bitty ship, yours is an entire planet. The way I figure it, new ships are easy to come by. Planets, less so."

"Good flying," said Thorin. 

Felix smiled and turned to walk to her ship before her vision completely misted over and she started crying in front of them. 

"Good luck!" Ori shouted after her.

"Don't need it," she called back over her shoulder. "They didn't call me Felix for nothin'!"

Falling back into her tried and tested crisis management strategy of 'Fake It Till You Make It', she attempted to kindle her bravado from a dim spark into something resembling a flame. 

"This is gonna go great," she said to herself as she closed up the ship and prepped for launch. "I just gotta fly directly into an EMP ray, glide several hundred tonnes of metal to the surface of a planet that may or may not be full of Orcs. Not to mention the whole homicidal computer problem... so glad I'm not dealing with _that._ " 

Finally reaching the flight deck, she regarded her empty chair for a moment, then dashed down to her quarters and snatched the plastic dinosaur and the picture of her parents off the shelf and tucked them into her coat pocket. 

Back in the chair, she sighed. "I am so not getting paid enough for this. Right, you cantankerous old wheelbarrow," she said as she initiated the launch sequence, "it's time for your blaze of glory. Let's make this run a good one."

Setting the _jin mao_ on her dash a-beckoning, she picked up the comm set. 

"Bard, we have a green light to launch."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chinese:  
>  _Wo cao_ \- Oh shit  
>  _Fei fei pigu!_ \- Baboon's arsehole!  
>  _wo de ma_ \- Mother of God  
>  _dong ma?_ \- understand?  
>  _bǎobèi_ \- Darling  
>  _Tāmāde_ \- Fuck  
>  _jin mao_ \- Maneki neko
> 
> This chapter was originally going to be part of a larger one but it got a bit out of hand. Felix is a chatty broad. Also, my Chinese is really coming along. It's becoming one of my default swearing languages now (much to the amusement of my Mandarin-speaking co-workers).  
> Next chapter needs an edit so it should be up soon. Stay shiny!


End file.
